r~i  CD  rm  r^ir~n 


A 


MIDSUMMER   MADNESS 


BY 


ELLEN    OLNEY    KIRK 


BOSTON 
JAMES    R.    OSGOOD    AND    COMPANY 

1884 


Copyright,  1884 
JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


Press  of  Rockwell  and  Churchill,  39  Arch  St. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  MR.  HAXTOUN'S  GREAT  WORK  ...  5 

II.  A  LOOKER-OX  IN  VIENNA  ....  14 

III.  TABLE-TALK        ...         ...  36 

IV.  MOTHER  AND  SON 48 

V.     MEDHURST f>5 

VI.  "WHISTLE  HER  OFF  AND  LET  HER  DOWN 

THE  WIND" 73 

VII.  "XOTIIING,  IF  NOT  CRITICAL"  ...  81 

VIII.    A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE 101 

IX.  MRS.  HAXTOUN'S  TROUBLES       .        .         .  119 

X.  A   FOURTH-OF-JULY   FETE  ....  131 

XI.  MRS.  DALTON  TAKES  A  MORNING  WALK  .  166 

XII.  "THE  PLAY'S  THE  THING"        .        .        .185 

XIII.  "A  WOMAN'S  REASON"      .        .        .        .199 

XIV.  Two  LOVERS  218 


2046108 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XV.    A  STAR-CHAMBER  MATTER     .        .        .    232 
XVI.    MR.  HAXTOUN'S  DIPLOMACY   .        .        .    247 
XVII.    A  SONATA  BY  BEETHOVEN      .        .        .258 
"FAIR  RIVALS"        .....     279 


XIX.  RODNEY    COMMITS    HIMSELF    TO    FOR- 

TUNE   .......     288 

XX.  A  PICNIC  .......     298 

XXI.  A  SOIREE  DRAMATIQUE  ....    313 

XXII.  Too  CLEVER  BY  HALF    .        .        .        .324 

XXIII.  "HAD  I  WIST  BEFORE  I  KIST"     .        .    347 

XXIV.  MEDHURST  CUTS  THE  GORDIAN  KNOT    .    359 
XXV.  A  LOST  OPPORTUNITY      .        .        .        .372 

XXVI.  CECIL  COMES  UP  TO  TOWN                          383 


A    MIDSUMMEE    MADNESS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

MR.  HAXTOUN'S  GREAT  WORK. 

MR.  FRANCIS  MEDHURST  had  enjoyed  so 
few  chances  of  bettering  his  fortunes  that 
when  an  opportunity  for  some  little  change  of  scene 
and  freedom  of  action  came  knocking  at  his  door 
he  was  half  inclined  to  find  something  intrusive  and 
impertinent  in  the  summons.  Mr.  Hill,  editor  of 
the  "  Forum,"  a  New  York  daily  paper  to  which  the 
young  man  was  attached  in  a  very  subordinate  ca- 
pacity, sent  for  him,  saying  that,  having  been  asked 
to  recommend  a  secretary  for  a  gentleman  by  the 
name  of  Haxtoun,  living  on  the  Delaware,  he  had 
named  him,  Medhurst.  Good  abilities,  classical 
acquirements,  a  practical  knowledge  of  German  and 
habits  of  systematic  energy,  were  the  requirements. 
If  found  qualified  in  these  respects  the  young 
fellow  was  to  take  up  his  residence  with  his  patron, 
and  assist  to  the  utmost  of  his  ability  in  preparing  a 
work  for  the  press.  As  for  salary,  Mr.  Hastoun 
would  make  a  fair  offer  to  begin  with,  and,  should 
his  assistant  prove  competent  and  valuable,  he  was 
ready  to  pay  almost  any  reasonable  amount  for  the 


6  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

sake  of  getting  his  book  off  his  hands  speedily  and 
satisfactorily.  The  editor  went  on  to  remark  that 
Medhurst  was  to  call  that  day  at  the  Brevoort  House, 
between  five  and  six  o'clock,  and  conclude  arrange- 
ments and  terms  with  the  gentleman  himself. 

"Do  you  actually  think  it  would  be  worth  while 
to  give  up  my  position  here,  and  enter  a  servitude  like 
that?"  Medhurst  asked,  with  an  air  of  indignation. 

"  I  should  advise  you  to  try  it.  It  is  your  object, 
I  believe,  to  get  some  few  thousands  ahead,  and  you 
have  little  chance  of  doing  more  than  to  cover  your 
expenses  here,  while  in  the  couutoy  your  living  will 
not  cost  3'ou  a  stiver.  Try  it,  at  all  events.  I  shall 
not  fill  your  place  for  a  few  months,  and  if  you 
can't  stand  it  you  may  return  and  find  a  hearty 
welcome." 

"  What  is  the  great  work  to  be?  " 

"  The  subject  is  the  epics  of  all  nations,  I  believe. 
That  does  not  sound  so  bad." 

"  I  think  it  sounds  very  bad." 

"Don't  make  yourself  too  great  for  occasions. 
You  isolate  yourself  by  your  pride  and  3*0111-  fastidi- 
ousness. That  is  one  reason  why  I  think  this  sort 
of  an  opening  favorable  to  3-our  interests ;  your 
silent  contempt  of  journalism  makes  itself  felt 
among  us.  You  are  too  scrupulous,  too  ready  to  be 
disgusted  at  the  merest  trifle,  —  in  fact,  you're  too 
much  of  an  idealist.  You're  better  fitted  for  literary 
life,  and  this  experience  will  put  you  in  the  way  of 
finding  out  your  actual  bias.  Come,  now,  a  hun- 
dred dollars  a  month,  and  your  expenses  paid,  is 
not  such  an  every-day  sort  of  offer  that  you  can 
afford  to  wear  those  airs  of  superiority.  Go  to  the 


ME.   HAXTOUWS   GREAT  WORK.  7 

Brevoort  House,  assume  your  best  manner,  and 
thank  Heaven  that  you  are  in  for  a  bit  of  honest 
good  luck." 

Medhurst  was  sensible  enough  to  take  this  advice, 
although  he  liked  neither  the  tone  nor  the  matter  of 
it.  It  would  have  pleased  him  to  be  independent  of 
the  common  lot.  If  he  could  not  act  a  striking  part 
on  the  stage  of  the  world  he  would  have  preferred 
to  sit  in  the  boxes,  a  critical  or  indifferent  specta- 
tor. However,  egoistic  claims  of  an  extravagant  kind 
are  not  so  unusual  that  the  general  system  of  the 
universe  is  overturned  to  make  way  for  them,  and 
so  far  in  his  career  Medhurst  had  been  compelled  to 
obey  puppet-strings  of  another  man's  pulling.  He 
would  have  liked  to  humor  bis  own  vanity  by  pre- 
tending to  hesitate  over  Mr.  Haxtoun's  offer  ;  but  then 
declared  to  himself  that  he  was  a  fool,  and  accepted 
it  at  once.  Like  everything  else  that  had  happened 
to  him  for  years,  it  was  altogether  remote  from  his 
actual  scheme  of  life  ;  but  every  man  has  a  destiny 
allotted  to  him,  and  Medhurst  had  almost  come  to 
believe  that  his  was  to  do  nothing  he  had  ever 
counted  on. 

The  title  of  the  great  work  on  which  his  assistance 
was  required  turned  out  to  be  "  The  Identity  of  the 
Primitive  Epic  of  all  Aryan  Nations."  Such  a 
subject  covers  a  vast  expanse  of  country,  and  so 
much  of  it  was  unexplored,  and  even  unmapped  for 
Medhurst,  that  he  felt  doubtful  whether  he  could 
pass  muster  in  Mr.  Haxtoun's  examination ;  but 
this  he  apparently  contrived  to  do.  The  fact  was, 
two  other  aspirants  for  the  position  had  applied, 
each  of  whom  had  given  the  author  pangs  of  morti- 


8  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

fication  and  dread,  and  from  whom  he  had  escaped 
with  thankfulness  that  he  was  in  no  wa}*  committed 
to  their  mercies.  He  had  then  applied  to  Mr.  Hill, 
telling  him  that  he  wanted  a  well-educated  young 
man,  without  prepossessions  or  violent  conceit. 
He  felt  that  it  behooved  him  to  be  cautious,  very 
cautious,  and  take  Medhurst's  measure  thoroughly  ; 
but  the  fact  was,  that,  moved  by  a  fancy  for  him, 
he  was  not  at  the  pains  of  considering  anything 
beyond  his  personal  advantages.  What  he  saw 
was  a  well-made,  sufficiently  good-looking  young 
man  of  twenty-eight]  brown-haired,  gray-eyed, 
with  a  crisp,  dark  mustache  of  the  narrowest 
possible  arch,  giving  a  lighter  character  to  the 
solidly  moulded  mouth  and  chin.  His  manner  was 
attractive  though  unusually  serious.  He  spoke 
without  hesitation,  but  betrayed  no  inclination  for 
an  unnecessary  word.  Mr.  Haxtoun  thought  him  a 
peculiarly  agreeable  person  to  get  along  with.  He 
liked  gravity  ;  he  liked  silence  ;  he  liked  a  man  who 
knew  how  to  listen.  He  was  impressed,  besides,  b}' 
the  half-brusque  way  with  which  Medhurst  dismissed 
all  questions  of  his  individual  likings  and  dislikiugs, 
apparently  counting  them  as  unimportant. 

Medhurst,  on  the  other  hand,  recognized  in  his 
patron  a  methodical  and  painstaking  old  gentleman 
of  sixt3'-five,  who  invested  the  most  trivial  circum- 
stance connected  with  himself  with  extreme  porten- 
tousness.  His  taste  was  likely  to  have  many  nice 
distinctions ;  his  instinct  would  be  jealous  ;  likely 
enough  his  habit  would  be  rather  inclined  to  petty 
tyrannies.  But,  after  reading  out  about  two  score 
of  questions  committed  to  paper,  and  obtaining 


MR.   HAXTOUWS   ORE  AT  WORK.  9 

decently  satisfactory  answers,  Mr.  Haxtoun  re- 
laxed a  little.  His  delicate,  thin  face  lost  its  anxious 
expression,  took  color,  and  expanded  into  some- 
thing like  geniality.  The  exigencies  of  his  position 
had  forced  him  to  be  inquisitive,  and  rather  disa- 
greeable, and  he  was  glad  to  become  apologetic, 
even  flattering. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Medhurst,"  he  now  observed,  "  it 
was  a  very  important  matter,  — the  making  of  this 
engagement.  It  was  not  alone  a  question  of  your 
acquirements,  but  of  your  sympathy  with  me,  — 
your  probable  insight  into  the  workings  of  my  mind. 
We  shall  be  thrown  into  intimate  companionship, 
and  I  cannot  live  with  people  I  dislike,  or  who  take 
a  contradictor}-  and  critical  attitude  regarding  me. 
You  might  possess  every  intellectual  qualification,  and 
yet  hinder  my  work  and  paralyze  my  powers.  I  am 
a  man  of  ardent  imagination,  yet  at  the  same  time 
I  am  sensitive,  very  sensitive.  A  breath  of  cen- 
sure kills  me.  You  are  the  third  applicant  for  the 
position  of  my  secretary.  What  I  went  through 
with  the  first  is  absolutely  painful  to  consider.  His 
name  was  Faber  ;  he  was  a  German,  —  a  professor, 
I  believe.  He  had  gone  over  nvy  whole  field  ;  but  his 
views  made  me  shudder.  He  sees  in  the  '  Iliad,' 
even  the  'OdysseN','  a  mere  pell-mell  of  fugitive 
ballads,  flung  together  without  coherence  or  cohesion. 
He  insisted  on  piling  up  instances  of  the  contradic- 
tions which  ho  declares  bristle  along  the  pages  from 
the  eleventh  to  the  eighteenth  book  of  the  '  Iliad.' 
I  politely,  but  firmly,  refused  to  listen.  I  rose.  He 
went  on  reciting,  almost  foaming  at  the  mouth.  I 
went  out  and  up  to  my  room,  and  two  flights  above. 


10  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

I  still  heard  him  shrieking  out,  '  The  Hesiodic  epic 
distinctly  proves.'  I  sent  one  of  the  waiters  to  show 
him  the  door,  and  tell  him  I  should  not  require  his 
services,  and  presently  I  watched  him  go  up  the 
street,  still  wildly  gesticulating." 

"  I  have  heard  of  Faber.  He  is  a  monomaniac," 
said  Medhurst ;  "but  he  is  a  man  of  profound  re- 
search, I  am  told." 

"  I  prefer  making  my  own  researches.  The  second 
aspirant  was  an  old  man,  older  than  myself,  a  mere 
verbalist,  with  eyes  bleared  from  looking  into  dic- 
tionaries. But  what  I  wanted,  and  what  I  flatter 
myself  I  have  secured,  is  a  clever  young  fellow, 
whose  ideas  are  not  set  in  grooves,  and  whose  im- 
agination is  not  quenched." 

Medhurst  made  some  appreciative  rejoinder,  but 
would  better  have  liked  a  compliment  to  his  cool 
head  and  steady  heart.  Mr.  Haxtoun,  much  relieved 
at  having  tided  over  his  present  difficulty,  overflowed 
with  garrulousness. 

"  My  first  idea,"  he  pursued,  "  was  to  work  inde- 
pendently from  first  to  last.  The  matter  of  my 
book  had  lain  in  my  mind  for  many  a  year.  Pub- 
lication did  not  at  first  seem  a  necessit}*  of  life  to 
me,  scarcely  a  laudable  ambition,  since  I  wanted  no 
noisy  eclat,  no  distinction  from  authorship.  Gradu- 
ally, however,  I  began  to  feel  it  was  becoming  my 
dut}'.  The  nature  of  m}-  studies  had  roused  expec- 
tations,—  extravagant,  no  doubt,  but  still  founded  on 
the  knowledge  my  friends  have  gained  of  my  powers. 
I  am  constantly  asked," — here  Mr.  Haxtoun  stopped 
a  moment  to  utter  a  dry  little  laugh, — "  how  rm*  great 
work  is  coming  on.  I  hate  to  disappoint  the  world, 


MB.   HAXTOUN' S   GREAT  WORK.  H 

but  the  magnitude  of  my  undertaking  begins  to  loom 
before  me  alarmingly.  I  am  in  my  sixty-seventh 
year  ;  naturally  I  want  to  see  it  in  print  before  I  die. 
Mrs.  Haxtoun  has  found  my  work  a  serious  inter- 
ference with  some  of  her  views  :  it  keeps  me  away 
from  her  all  day  long ;  she  declares  it  makes  me 
dyspeptic  sitting  and  brooding  over  my  thoughts. 
Once,  just  to  oblige  her,  I  gave  it  up  for  three  days  ; 
but,  I  assure  yon,  Mr.  Medhurst,  deprived  of  my  oc- 
cupation I  was  worse  off  than  Othello.  In  fact,  with 
his  jealous  disposition,  he  was  rich  in  resources  com- 
pared with  me."  The  old  gentleman  here  paused  to 
utter  a  faint  "  Ha  !  ha  !  "  over  his  own  wit.  "  My  wife 
had  to  acquiesce,"  he  continued.  "  She  was  compelled 
to  let  me  go  back.  I  then  asked  her  to  assist  me,  so 
that  she  need  not  be  cut  off  from  my  society.  But 
she  wore  upon  my  nerves.  With  the  best  intentions 
in  the  world  she  somehow  damped  my  enthusiasm. 
She  would  find  an  illustration  trivial  which  to  me 
was  luminous  with  meaning.  She  would  pull  me  up 
while  I  was  dictating  by  asking  gently  if  what  I  was 
writing  was  not  vague. 

"  This  experience  was  dispiriting.  It  forced  me  to 
realize  how  solitary  the  great  thinkers  of  the  world 
necessarily  are.  My  daughter  has  copied  a  great 
many  manuscripts  for  me,  and  done  some  very  pretty 
translations ;  but  this  does  not  suit  my  wife's  idea 
for  Cecil,  who  is  at  the  age  when  amusements  are  im- 
portant. We  have  a  neighbor,  who  is  rather  an  orig- 
inal man  in  his  way,  and  he  said  to  me,  the  other 
da}',  '  Get  a  secretary,  Mr.  Haxtoun  ;  otherwise  you 
will  waste  the  rest  of  your  life  without  finally  accom- 
plishing your  object.'  I  decided  to  take  Mr.  Rod- 


12  A   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

ney  Heriot's  suggestion,  and  I  am  prepared  to  say  it 
was  an  excellent  one." 

Medhurst  was  not  so  prompt  in  committing  himself 
to  the  most  favorable  view  of  his  chances.  The  old 
gentleman  might  turn  out  a  terrible  bore,  with  his 
artless  loquacity,  in  which  every  experience,  thought, 
and  sensation  was  diluted  endlessly.  He  had,  how- 
ever, made  a  definite  engagement,  and  was  to  set 
out  the  following  afternoon  with  Mr.  Haxtoun. 
Whatever  weariness  the  position  entailed,  or  labors 
it  necessitated,  it  was  certainly  more  lucrative 
than  his  present  one,  which  barely  kept  him  free 
of  debt.  One  little  circumstance  both  pleased  and 
irritated  Medhurst.  Mr.  Haxtouu  urged,  and  even 
tried  delicately  to  insist,  that  his  new  secretary 
should  accept  the  first-quarter's  payment  in  advance. 
Medhurst  resented  this  with  a  haughty  stare.  The 
suggestion  annoyed  him,  and  when  his  thoughts 
recurred  to  it,  afterwards,  a  wave  of  anger  and 
shame  passed  over  him,  at  the  fancy  that  something 
of  poverty  in  his  appearance  had  led  Mr.  Haxtoun 
to  make  the  proposal.  The  compensation  was, 
that  he  was  able  to  reflect  that  he  stood,  as  he 
had  always  stood,  fair  and  square  with  the  world, 
and  that,  though  sometimes  closely  pushed,  he  had 
never  fallen  behindhand,  but  had,  indeed,  kept 
something  to  the  fore.  There  had  been  times  when 
he  had  been  in  danger  of  debt,  —  when  in  early  years 
he  had  been  less  free  than  at  present  from  the  pleas- 
ing superstition  that  he  was  ultimately  to  possess  all 
he  wanted ;  when,  in  order  not  to  cut  a  bad  figure, 
he  had  extravagantly  drawn  upon  his  few  resources. 
Of  late  he  had  been  more  prudent.  He  had,  indeed, 


ME.   HAXTOUWS    GREAT  WORK.  13 

saved  some  money  for  a  certain  purpose.  He  owed 
nobody  anything,  except  two  columns  to  the  edi- 
tor of  the  "Forum."  He  wrote  them  up  before 
midnight,  and  next  morning  corrected  the  final 
revise  of  a  novel,  which  he  was  just  about  to  pub- 
lish. Then  he  packed  his  smallest  trunk,  and  pre- 
pared to  leave  New  York.  He  decided  not  to  burn 
his  boats  behind  him,  and  left  many  of  his  posses- 
sions in  his  Iandlad3*'s  care. 

"  I  ma}r  want  to  come  back  in  three  months,"  he 
said  to  her.    i 


14  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A    LOOKER-ON   IN   VIENNA. 

THE  journey  by  rail  lasted  almost  three 
hours,  and  Medhurst  felt  considerably  better 
acquainted  with  his  patron  when  he  left  the  car 
than  he  had  been  when  he  entered  it.  Mr.  Haxtoun 
had  perhaps  thought  it  well  to  break  ground  at 
once,  and  make  the  young  man  thoroughly  ac- 
quainted with  the  unknown  country  he  was  about  to 
enter.  He  began  with  generous  autobiographical 
details :  his  falling  in  love  with  the  present  Mrs. 
Haxtoun,  and  their  early  married  life.  He  gave  a 
lively  narrative  of  the  first  inception  of  his  great 
idea  of  the  Identity  of  the  Aryan  Epic,  and  his  sub- 
sequent grappling  with  it;  or  rather,  perhaps,  the 
history  of  its  usurpation  of  his  mind  and  life.  Mr. 
Haxtoun  was,  besides,  a  dyspeptic ;  and  as  dyspep- 
sia was  likely  to  be,  as  it  had  always  been,  a  con- 
siderable factor  in  his  moods,  besides  governing 
his  capacities,  it  was  probably  as  well  to  initiate 
the  secretary  into  its  symptoms,  and  the  courses 
of  treatment  prescribed  and  carried  out.  The  old 
gentleman  had  tried  everything,  —  the  fasting  cure, 
the  dieting  cure,  the  milk  cure,  —  but  had  now  reached 
the  vantage-land  of  scepticism  towards  all,  with 
a  gradually  developing  belief  that  the  richest  and 


A  LOOKER-ON  IN  VIENNA.  15 

most  highly  seasoned  food  suited  him  best,  and  was, 
at  any  rate,  the  safest  insurance  for  enjoyment  of 
life.  As  a  test  of  patience  these  confidences  — 
which  were  curiously  intermingled  with  accounts  of 
his  family  circle,  his  wife,  son,  and  daughter,  and 
niece  ;  one  statement  overlapping  another  and  leading 
to  perpetual  repetitions  —  may  have  had  their  uses  : 
they  convinced  the  speaker  that  his  victim  could  bear 
much  without  undue  depression  or  excited  rejoinder. 
Medhurst  played  the  part  of  listener  most  engag- 
ingly, giving  various,  if  vague,  indications  of  interest 
while  these  coiled-up  reminiscences  were  slowly 
unwound,  neither  shrinking  from  the  recital  nor 
seeming  eager  for  its  continuance.  His  adhe- 
sion to  the  idea  of  this  sudden  convulsion  in  his 
life  was  still  so  fresh  that,  except  by  momentary 
glimpses,  he  hardly  yet  realized  where  he  stood.  It 
crossed  his  mind,  occasional!}-,  that  unless  he  con- 
tracted the  warmest  friendship  for  his  patron  he 
might,  on  closer  acquaintance,  find  him  insupporta- 
ble ;  but  at  present  he  almost  enjoyed  these  inter- 
minable harangues.  For  years,  now,  he  had  been 
incessantly  goaded  by  the  idea  that  the  least  of  his 
experiences  must  be  turned  to  account,  must  be 
served  up,  with  more  or  less  exaggeration,  for  readers 
of  the  "  Daily  Forum  "  ;  so  now,  having  nothing  to  do 
save  to  listen,  he  yielded  to  a  sense  of  passive  content. 
They  left  the  cars  a  few  miles  from  Philadelphia, 
and  were  met  by  an  open  wagon,  whicli  took  them  and 
their  baggage  to  their  place  of  destination.  The  drive 
lasted  almost  an  hour ;  but  on  this  pleasant  after- 
noon, towards  the  end  of  May,  it  was  a  never-ending 
delight  to  Medhurst,  whom  the  successive  vistas  into 


16  A  MIDSUMMER   MADNESS. 

park-like  grounds  on  either  hand,  the  sight  of  the 
tops  of  the  trees  against  the  sky,  the  ver}-  buttercups 
along  the  roadside,  moved  almost  beyond  his  will. 
He  liked  his  first  glimpse  of  Roseudale,  as  Mr. 
Haxtoun's  family-place  was  called  ;  it  looked  substan- 
tial and  venerable.  Fine  oaks  and  chestnuts  were 
massed  together  here  and  there,  or  towered  singly 
from  an  open  glade.  The  house  stood  moderately 
high,  with  a  sloping  lawn  in  front,  and  terraces  on 
the  sides  and  at  the  rear.  The  building  was  of 
gray,  unhewn  stone,  diversified  with  gables,  turrets, 
and  dormer  windows.  The  north  side  was  entirety 
covered  with  a  luxuriant  mantle  of  ivy,  in  the  midst 
of  which  was  a  mediaeval-looking  latticed  window, 
thrown  wide  open.  At  the  sound  of  approaching 
wheels  a  tall  girl,  dressed  in  white,  suddenly  ap- 
peared at  the  casement,  and  leaned  out  wilh  eager 
curiosity.  She  was  smiling,  and  seemed  about  to 
utter  a  glad  cry  ;  but,  meeting  only  Medhurst's  glance, 
she  merely  gave  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head,  and 
instantly  vanished,  leaving  an  impression  on  his 
mind  of  some  scene  in  the  Arabian  Nights'  Enter- 
tainments. When  the  wagon  reached  the  steps  she 
was  standing  in  the  door- way,  beside  a  lady  in  a 
lilac  dress,  with  a  lace  scarf  on  her  head.  They 
both  came  forward,  and  the  girl  ran  to  her  father 
while  he  was  still  on  the  step,  put  her  arms  about 
his  neck  and  kissed  him,  first  on  one  cheek  and 
then  on  the  other. 

"  Gently,  gently,  my  dear,"  said  he.  "  Remem- 
ber, I  am  only  made  of  flesh  and  blood.  This  is 
my  daughter  Cecil,  Mr.  Medhurst,"  he  added. 

Cecil  barely  looked  at  the  young  man,  but  with  a 


A  LOOKER-ON  IN   VIENNA.  17 

little  uod  pnt  her  arm  inside  her  father's,  and  led  him 
up  to  Mrs.  Haxtoun.  Medhurst  was  not,  however, 
left  out  in  the  cold.  In  fact,  neither  wife  nor  child 
seemed,  at  present,  to  the  old  gentleman,  so  distinct 
a  boon  from  Heaven  as  this  stiff  young  secretary  he 
had  brought  home.  He  introduced  him  to  his  wife 
with  a  glow  of  positive  enthusiasm  ;  called  up  his 
son  Alec,  and  presented  him,  adding  that  he  wanted 
every  possible  attention  offered  to  this  new  acquisi- 
tion. Alec  was  nothing  loth ;  he  began  talking  at 
once,  in  no  way  rebuffed  by  the  cool  way  in  which 
Medhurst  met  his  advances,  and  finally  proposed  to 
show  hirn  his  room,  leading  the  way  upstairs,  hos- 
pitably throwing  open  the  shutters  and  putting  back 
the  curtains. 

"  I  dare  say  you  will  come  down  when  you  feel 
like  it,"  Alec  then  remarked.  "  We  take  tea  at  eight, 
you  know." 

"I  will  be  down  in  five  minutes,"  Medhurst 
said,  answering  for  the  first  time  by  more  than  a 
single  word. 

"There  is  your  trunk  coming  up.  Well,  all 
right."  Alec  seemed,  however,  reluctant  to  go,  and 
now  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  You  see,"  he  explained,  "  I  feel  quite  upset  by 
the  sight  of  you.  I  expected  a  rusty,  musty  old 
fellow." 

"That  precisely  describes  me." 

"  We  were  talking  to  Heriot  about  what  you  were 
likely  to  be.  After  the  picture  he  drew  it  seems 
delightful  to  realize  that  }'ou  are  a  being  of  flesh 
and  blood." 

Medhurst  gave  a  shrug.     It  was  difficult  for  him 


18  A   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

to  see  the  humorous  side  of  the  subject.  He  had 
evidently  been  well  laughed  at  before  he  came,  and 
that  might  be  only  the  beginning  of  his  making 
amusement  for  a  group  of  young  people. 

"  We  shall  find  you  a  great  addition,"  said  Alec, 
returning  to  his  good  manners.  ''We  are  dull  and 
monotonous,  but  we  will  do  our  best  for  you." 

He  went  out,  and,  left  alone  at  last,  Medhurst 
glanced  about  his  room,  which  was  to  his  percep- 
tions so  dainty,  so  refined,  so  feminine-looking,  that 
he  felt  certain  he  should  never  be  able  to  use  its 
appurtenances  freely.  Chintz,  ribbons,  and  lace 
overhung  the  toilet ;  curtained  windows,  doors,  and 
recesses  screened  the  bath,  and  made  a  canopy  for 
the  bed.  Every  variety  of  easy-chair  stretched  out 
its  arms  to  draw  him  to  its  cushioned  depths.  The 
least  want  had  been  provided  for  ;  in  fact,  the  super- 
fluity of  equipment  suggested  wants  and  needs  for 
which  he  cared  nothing,  and  of  which  he  had  hith- 
erto known  nothing,  but  now  his  very  ignorance  and 
indifference  made  him  in  his  own  eyes  crude  and 
uncivilized. 

"  A  pretty  time  I  shall  have  of  it  here,  stumbling 
into  pitfalls  at  every  step  !  "  he  said  to  himself.  He 
went  to  the  window  and  looked  out  at  the  river  and 
hills  beyond.  So  far  he  had  only  seen  the  waters 
of  the  Delaware  by  glimpses,  and  the  scene  towards 
sunset  struck  him  as  indescribably  pretty  and  pictu- 
resque. It  inspired,  however,  a  feeling  of  absolute 
melancholy,  — the  sort  of  melancholy  he  might  have 
experienced  if  what  he  loved  best  in  the  world  were 
shut  away  from  him  by  these  horizons.  He  re- 
pented coming,  and  wished  himself  away.  "A 


A  LOOKER-ON  IN   VIENNA.  19 

pretty  time  I  shall  have  in  this  house,"  he  said, 
again  staring  at  the  reflection  of  the  sunset  clouds 
in  the  river.  He  felt  indignant  towards  Mr.  Hill 
and  towards  all  the  Haxtouns  for  forcing  him  into 
these  changed  currents  of  existence.  "  I  was  well 
enough  off  in  New  York,"  he  now  said  aloud,  as  if 
ready  to  argue  the  matter  with  some  unseen  an- 
tagonistic force.  Nevertheless,  while  he  uttered 
this,  the  thought  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  it 
had  been  a  joyless  life  enough  he  had  led  in  New 
York.  He  remembered  how  the  young  girl's  head 
had  looked  framed  in  the  ivy-hung  casement. 

It  crossed  his  mind  presently  that  time  was  pass- 
ing, and  that  he  might  be  expected  downstairs. 
He  was  angry  with  himself  for  a  sort  of  trembling ; 
not  so  much  a  trembling  as  an  after-quivering  of 
the  nerves  left  by  over-excitement.  But  what  could 
have  excited  him?  He  declared  to  himself  that, 
after  bolting  his  meals  for  four  years  in  cheap  eat- 
ing-houses, he  dreaded  the  ordeal  of  a  private  table. 
He  was  in  doubt  as  to  the  propriety  of  making  a 
change  in  his  dress,  and,  remembering  the  elegant 
nicety  of  Alec  Haxtoun,  he  longed  to  be  rough  and 
careless.  Nevertheless,  he  set  about  his  toilet  with 
the  most  fastidious  pains,  although  his  thoughts 
chafed  restlessly  all  the  time,  impugning  his  motives 
and  condemning  his  weakness. 

Meantime  the  group  on  the  veranda  had  not 
moved. 

"  He  is  what  I  call  a  gentleman,"  Mr.  Haxtouu 
had  been  saying.  "  He  has  pleased  me  better  and 
better  each  hour  since  we  met.  He  lost  his  parents 
early,  and  whatever  small  patrimony  he  had  was 


20  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

spent  on  his  education.  He  had  expected  to  study 
law,  but  was  compelled  to  do  something  for  himself 
as  soon  as  he  left  the  University." 

"And  this  was  promotion  to  him  !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Haxtoun.  "  He  could  have  had  little  enough  success 
elsewhere.  I  suppose  you  will  hardly  give  him  more 
than  a  few  hundred  dollars  a  year." 

"The  terms  are  not  precisely  fixed,"  said  Mr. 
Haxtoun,  a  little  hurt  at  the  tone  his  wife  was  taking. 
She  seemed,  he  thought,  to  exhibit  an  excessive  and 
obtrusive  surprise  at  the  appearance  of  the  young 
man,  —  a  surprise  disproportionate  to  the  occasion. 
She  had  declared  that  he  looked  young  ;  that  he  did 
not  impress  her  as  she  had  expected  to  be  impressed 
by  a  mere  secretary.  She  had  added,  too,  that  he 
was  very  well  dressed.  If  there  could  have  been  any 
reason  for  it  he  might  have  fancied  there  was  some- 
thing displeasing  to  her  in  youth,  good  looks,  and 
respectable  clothes. 

"Really,  Leonard,"  she  now  said,  almost  with 
vehemence,  "I  should  suppose  that  any  young 
man  of  good  education,  and  even  moderate  energy, 
could  get  a  better  place  than  this." 

"I  mean  that  he  shall  find  it  a  very  good  place, 
my  dear." 

"  But,  Leonard,  if  you  thought  of  doing  anything 
extravagant,  ought  you  not  to  reflect  " — 

Mr.  Haxtouu  rose.  "  I  will  go  in,"  said  he.  "I 
will  go  to  my  own  room,  and  have  a  little  fire  made 
in  the  grate.  I  feel  myself  taking  cold  here  in  the 
dampness." 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  sprang  towards  her  husband  at 
once.  She  was  conscious  of  having  betrayed  some 


A   LOOKER-ON  IN   VIENNA.  21 

in'itation,  instead  of  giving  him  a  warm,  wifely  greet- 
ing. But  then  it  seemed  to  her  a  very  singular 
indiscretion  for  Mr.  Haxtoun  to  have  brought  home 
a  young  and  very  good-looking  man  to  make  a  new 
member  in  their  household.  She  had  rather  inclined 
to  the  idea  of  a  secretary,  for  her  husband  had  con- 
stantly interfered  with  Cecil's  amusements  and  occu- 
pations, by  asking  one  little  service  of  her  after  .an- 
other ;  but  the  secretary  she  had  seen  in  her  mind's 
eye  had  in  no  way  resembled  Medhurst.  He  had 
been  of  no  particular  age,  near-sighted,  bent,  narrow- 
chested,  shy  and  awkward  in  his  manners.  She  had 
not  begrudged  him  one  of  her  pretty  spare  chambers  ; 
but  she  had  considered  it  too  good  for  him  neverthe- 
less. She  would  have  been  very  kind  to  a  weak- 
looking,  bashful  man,  even  if  he  had  been  young  ;  but 
towards  Medhurst  she  felt  a  singular  hostility.  He 
ought  never  to  have  been  brought  to  Rosendale 
without  her  advice  being  asked.  But  then,  Mr.  Hax- 
toun never  did  ask  her  advice.  He  never  coarsely 
rejected  it ;  but  he  never  seemed  conscious  that  she 
had  independent  views  to  offer.  He  seemed  to  take 
it  for  granted  that,  because  she  was  his  dutiful  wife, 
she  agreed  with  him  on  every  subject,  and  that  the 
most  strenuous  elucidation  of  his  private  opinions 
was  a  mere  amplification  of  his  own,  and  any  dif- 
ference was  feminine  error. 

But  the  idea  that  he  had  taken  cold  now  roused 
her  liveliest  solicitude,  and  other  complications  were 
lost  sight  of  in  view  of  this  present  evil. 

"O  my  dear!"  she  exclaimed,  "  where  do  you 
feel  it  ?  How  could  I  have  been  so  thoughtless ! 
Is  it  all  over  you,  or  in  your  head?" 


22  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"My  throat,  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Haxtoun,  with 
feeble  resignation.  "  I  ought  not  to  have  sat  down 
with  you  young  people.  You  are  always  forgetting 
that  I  am  an  old  man." 

"You  must  take  a  hot  drink  when  you  go  to 
bed." 

"It  will  be  too  late  to  undo  the  mischief  then," 
said  Mr.  Haxtoun,  shaking  his  head  mournfully. 

"  You  shall  have  one  now." 

"  That  would  simply  prevent  my  having  any  ap- 
petite for  my  supper." 

By  this  time  husband  and  wife  were  half  way  up 
the  stairs,  and  on  the  landing  encountered  Med- 
hurst. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Medhurst,"  said  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  in  a 
tone  of  the  most  exquisite  politeness,  "you  must 
make  yourself  quite  at  home!  We  must  leave 
you  to  the  young  people  for  the  present.  Alec 
will  show  you  about.  "We  have  kept  Mr.  Hax- 
toun so  long  on  the  piazza  that  he  has  caught  a 
chill." 

"I  trust  nothing  of  consequence,  "said  Medhurst. 

"  I  will  take  a  quinine  pill,"  answered  Mr.  Hax- 
toun, in  a  tone  of  doom,  and,  waving  his  hand  as  if 
in  blessing,  he  vanished. 

Medhurst  went  slowly  down  the  stairs,  lingering 
as  long  as  possible  on  each  one,  finally  standing  still 
at  the  lowest,  and  awaiting  developments. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Cis,"  cried  Alec,  "  here  is  Mr. 
Medhurst !  I  am  glad  you  have  come  down.  Tea  is 
not  ready  yet;  in  fact  I  hear  that  it  is  put  off. 
Nothing  is  so  movable  as  the  feasts  in  this  house 
when  you  are  hungry,  and  nothing  so  relentless  and 


A  LOOKER-ON  IN   VIENNA.  23 

immovable  when  you  want  them  a  little  late.  They 
are  always  either  too  early  or  too  late." 

Both  the  young  people  had  come  up  to  Medhurst 
in  the  hall,  and  on  the  threshold  of  the  door  now 
appeared  a  very  blond  and  graceful  young  girl,  in 
a  dark-green  dress,  attended  by  a  saturnine-looking 
young  man. 

"  This  is  my  cousin,  Miss  Winchester,  Mr.  Med- 
hurst," said  Cecil.  "And  let  me  introduce  Mr. 
Arthur  Snow,  also." 

Miss  Winchester  shot  a  very  bright  glance  at  the 
new  secretary,  but  Mr.  Snow  regarded  him  with  ap- 
parent hostility;  but  then,  Mr.  Snow  perhaps  had  a 
sort  of  grudge  against  the  world  in  general,  for  the 
sight  of  most  things  under  the  sun  increased  his 
look  of  ennui  and  melancholy.  The  two,  having 
gratified  their  curiosity,  remarked  that  they  were 
going  to  walk  again,  bowed,  and  withdrew. 

' '  My  cousin  has  incessant  occupation  at  pres- 
ent," remarked  Alec,  "  having  the  care  of  a"  — 

Cecil  flung  her  brother  a  look  expressive  of 
horror. 

"  They  are  engaged,"  she  put  in.  "They  are  to 
be  married  in  the  autumn." 

"Do  you  suppose  Mr.  Medhurst  cares  anything 
about  that,  Cis?"  asked  Alec,  in  a  pitying  tone. 
"  Girls,"  he  went  on,  "  like  to  hear  about  weddings, 
and  to  talk  about  them,  because  it  reminds  them  of 
the  happy  time  when  they  shall  be  brides ;  while  a 
man  hates  all  mention  of  them,  for  fear  that,  sooner 
or  later,  his  time  may  come." 

"  I  am  entirely  unmoved  either  by  expectation  or 
dread,"  said  Medhurst. 


24  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Did  the  place  strike  you  pleasantly  as  you  drove 
in?"  Alec  asked  presently,  breaking  a  stiff  pause. 

"Yes  ;  I  never  saw  in  this  country  such  fine  ivy." 

"  The  climate  favors  it.  It  is  milder  here  than  in 
New  York." 

Medhurst  declined  to  discuss  climates.  He  stood 
looking  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  young  people 
with  an  attentive  gaze.  The  stillness  again  began 
to  be  appalling,  and  discomfited  Cecil,  who  now  re- 
marked shyly,  "  Our  place  is  quite  old  ;  "  then  added, 
"Alec,  tell  Mr.  Medhurst  about  our  place, — how 
old  it  is,  and  all  that." 

Her  face  as  she  spoke  grew  excessively  arch,  al- 
though she  was  apparently  speaking  with  absolute 
seriousness. 

Alec  caught  the  tone  at  once. 

"  The  Haxtouns  have  lived  here  for  one  hundred 
and  sixty  years,"  said  he. 

"Indeed?" 

"  The  old  house  bears  the  date  of  1717,"  put  in 
Cecil,  with  the  candid  air  of  a  child. 

"This  house?" 

"  No,  this  house  was  built  in  1832  by  my  grand- 
father. The  old  house  is  on  the  lowest  terrace, 
close  to  the  river.  The  ceilings  are  so  low  I  can 
touch  them  with  my  hand  by  standing  on  my  tiptoes. 
The  windows  are  very  small  and  the  glass  very  old 
and  green,  but  we  value  it  because  on  one  of  the 
panes  is  written,  with  a  diamond,  '  Peace,  hush  this 
dismal  din  of  arms.  Jan.  19,  1777.' ' 

"  Indeed?"  Medhurst  said  again. 

"  It  was  supposed  to  be  written  by  my  great- 
great-aunt,  who  had  a  lover  in  the  war,"  she 


A  LOOKER-ON  IN   VIENNA.  25 

added.       "Don't    you    think    it    rather     interest- 
ing?" 

"Very,"  Medhurst  remarked,  his  tongue  too  stiff 
to  yield  a  word  more,  He  saw  clearly  that,  although 
his  entertainers  showed  kindness  and  consideration, 
they  found  something  distinctly  humorous  in  the 
situation,  a  something  that  had  no  precedent  in  their 
traditions.  Cecil  fastened  her  lovely,  frightened 
eyes  upon  him,  much  as  if  he  had  been  a  unique 
animal,  and  she  in  doubt  how  to  coax  his  humors. 
All  he  cared  for  at  present  was  to  hold  his  own. 
He  was  perfectly  self-possessed,  and  studied  both  the 
young  Haxtouns  as  critically  as  the  occasion  permitted. 
Cecil's  beauty  was  undeniable.  Being  only  nineteen, 
she  had,  besides  beauty,  the  indescribable  freshness 
and  charm  of  early  youth.  Beyond  this  there  was  an 
unusual  degree  of  high  finish  in  the  moulding  of 
both  form  and  features,  which  promised  still  greater 
perfection  when  a  few  years  of  womanhood  should 
have  developed  her.  All  this  he  could  see ;  but 
whether  her  eyes  were  blue  or  brown  ;  whether  with 
that  dark  hair  and  clazzliugly  fair  skin  she  was  to 
be  classed  with  brunettes  or  with  the  medium  type, 
he  could  not  at  present  decide.  Whatever  might 
be  the  color  of  her  eyes  their  expression  varied  be- 
wilderingly  from  the  caressing  to  the  mocking,  the 
timid  to  the  imperious.  At  the  beginning  of  her 
speech  they  pleaded,  they  enticed  ;  at  its  close  thoy 
laughed.  Her  mouth,  too,  was  lovely  as  a  child's, 
and  whenever  she  opened  her  lips  her  smile  had 
an  actual  cherubic  charm  ;  but  the  innocence  and 
candor  grew  into  the  sweetest  mischief  and  way- 
wardness, and  one's  hear.t,  at  first  wanned  by  her  air 


2G  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

of  goodness,  burned  presently  with  a  sense  of  being 
duped  and  tantalized.  She  was  tall,  and  appeared 
taller  than  her  actual  height,  from  the  straightness 
and  slimness  of  her  pretty  figure.  The  gown  she 
wore  was  of  thick,  fluffy  white,  with  full  frills  of 
yellow  lace  at  the  throat  and  elbows,  which  gave 
the  effect  of  her  blossoming  out  of  it  like  a  flower 
out  of  a  deep  corolla. 

As  for  Alec  he  was  twenty-three  or  four,  with  an 
air  of  holding  serious  views  concerning  his  toilet 
and  behavior.  He  aimed  at  being  correct,  and 
rather  colorless  ;  but  his  spirit  was  too  high  to  allow 
of  his  making  a  definite  impression  of  mere  ele- 
gance. There  was,  indeed,  rather  a  spoiled-child  air 
about  both  young  people,  which  might  easily  be  for- 
given on  account  of  their  perfect  good-nature  and 
love  of  innocent  fun.  Medhurst  made  up  his  mind 
he  could  easily  enough  like  Alec ;  but,  as  for  the 
pretty,  princess-like  creature,  he  invested  her  at  once 
with  aristocratic  hauteur,  whims,  and  caprices,  which 
separated  her  from  him  like  a  being  of  a  different 
world. 

"Alec!"  Cecil  exclaimed,  in  atone  of  indigna- 
tion, "  papa  told  you  to  offer  Mr.  Medhurst  every 
attention.  I  insist  that  you  shall  show  him  the 
house  at  once." 

"  Don't,  I  beg,  take  any  trouble  to  entertain  me," 
said  Medhurst,  dryty. 

"  Oh,  we  are  charmed  to  do  it ! "  cried  Alec. 

' '  Papa  told  us  he  wanted  you  to  feel  quite  at 
home,"  said  Cecil,  "  and  that  we  must  do  all  in  our 
power  to  make  it  agreeable  to  you.  We  are  stupid, 
but  our  intentions  are  good."  \She  accompanied 


A  LOOKEE-ON  IN   VIENNA.  27 

these  words  with  the  upturned  glance  of  an  affec- 
tionate child ;  but  Medhurst  bit  his  lip. 

"This  is  the  parlor,"  said  Alec,  advancing  along 
the  hall,  and  indicating  the  salon  at  the  left. 

"The  drawing-room,"  corrected  Cecil.  "You 
don't  make  anything  impressive,  Alec.  I  will  do 
the  honors  myself."  She  ran  on  ahead,  and  stood 
at  the  wide-arched  door  with  a  charming  gesture  of 
invitation.  "This  is  the  Haxtoun  drawing-room," 
said  she.  "  It  runs  the  length  of  the  house,  and  has 
eight  French  windows  and  two  doors.  It  is  fur- 
nished in  frayed  yellow  satin,  and  carpeted  with  an 
afflicting  pattern  in  Axminster,  which,  after  forty 
years  of  constant  use,  will  not  wear  out.  The 
works  of  art  on  the  wall  are  by  —  Who  are  the 
works  of  art  on  the  wall  by,  Alec  ? "  she  asked,  look- 
ing at  her  brother  and  going  off  into  a  fit  of  girlish 
laughter.  "  Are  you  aesthetic,  Mr.  Medhurst?  "  she 
asked,  suddenly  growing  grave  and  drawing  herself 
up. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  Medhurst  replied,  softening  a 
little  at  the  sight  of  her  wistful  face.  If  she  had 
been  more  of  a  child  or  more  of  a  woman  he  might, 
he  thought,  have  known  better  how  to  take  this 
prodigality  of  spirits  and  this  high  coloring  of  fun 
and  folly. 

"  We  are  not  aesthetic,"  she  now  remarked. 
"  We  have  neighbors  whose  houses  look  as  if  they 
were  furnished  out  of  the  South  Kensington  Art 
Museum.  Accordingly  we  pose  as  Philistines ;  we 
make  no  concessions  to  new  ideas,  — not  we  !  What 
we  like  in  a  thing  is  its  durability,  its  respectabil- 
ity, its  ugliness.  We  don't  have  furniture  and  cups 


28  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

and  saucers  to  look  at !  What  we  pique  ourselves 
upon  is  the  utter  absence  of  taste  in  our  house.  It 
costs  a  great  deal  to  keep  up  to  our  standard  of 
hideousness,  for  almost  everything  nowadays  is  so 
pretty  and  so  cheap.  In  this  way  we  stand  up 
against  the  encroachments  of  our  rich  neighbors. 
You  should  see  Mrs.  Est6's  pictures"  — 

"  China,"  said  Alec. 

"  Crystal,  and  glass,  and  damask  "  — 

"Carvings  and  furniture"  — 

"  Rugs,  Japanese  bronzes  "  — 

"  And  her  clothes  ! " 

"  She  sits  among  her  splendors  with  the  smile  of 
a  Cornelia,"  pursued  Cecil ;  "  for  her  chief  treasure 
is  her  son." 

"  Oh,  such  a  son  ! "  said  Alec.  "  He  is  as  dutiful 
as  —  one  of  Lear's  daughters  !  " 

"  I  wonder  if  you  will  like  Mr.  Heriot,"  said 
Cecil,  turning  to  Medhurst.  "  He  is  rather  —  distin- 
guished, —  does  that  suit  Mr.  Heriot,  Alec?  " 

"  I  never  heard  an  adjective  yet  that  expressed 
him." 

Medhurst  was  looking  at  Cecil  and  smiling,  and 
she  ceased  to  think  of  what  she  was  saying,  or  to 
listen  to  her  brother.  She  turned  away  from  his 
gaze  with  a  wish  to  say  something  to  hide  a  sort  of 
feeling  she  could  not  express ;  but  could  think  of  no 
words,  except  mere  commonplaces  about  the  parlor, 
where  they  still  stood. 

"  It  is  a  very  pleasant  room  in  summer,"  she  went 
on,  with  quite  a  shy  air.  "  In  winter  we  live 
altogether  on  the  south  side  of  the  house.  This  is 
mamma's  morning-room,  and  that  is  the  library. 


A  LOOKER-ON  IN   VIENNA.  29 

Alec,  take  Mr.  Medhurst  into  papa's  book-room. 
You  will  be  apt  to  spend  a  good  deal  of  your  time 
there,"  she  added,  crossing  before  Medhurst,  in 
order  to  allow  him  a  chance  to  go  on,  and  sending  a 
little  smile  up  into  his  eyes  as  she  passed  him. 

Alec  took  the  lead,  though  the  library  was  so 
dark  that  they  could  only  see  their  way  into  a  small 
oblong  room,  completely  lined  with  books,  except 
for  the  three  windows  which  opened  to  the  south 
and  west. 

"This  apartment  is  sacred  to  TUB  WORK,"  said 
Alec,  in  a  voice  expressive  of  intense  veneration. 
"  Every  book  in  those  five  tiers  relates  to  the  Aryan 
epics.  As  you  see,  we  mention  the  subject  with 
genuflections  and  with  bated  breath." 

Medhurst  began  to  understand  Mr.  Haxtoun's 
need  of  a  paid  secretary. 

"In  those  cabinets,"  pursued  Alec,  "are  pots, 
pans,  and  jars,  which  will,  we  suppose,  illustrate 

THE  WOHK." 

"Aren't  they  hideous?"  said  Cecil,  peering  into 
the  shelves  over  her  brother's  shoulder. 

Medhurst  was  unaware  that  the  young  girl  had 
followed  them  into  the  book-room,  and  now,  startled 
by  her  sudden  exclamation,  turned  sharply  and  met 
her  face  close  to  his.  Thus  seen,  blushing  and 
dimpling,  she  made  so  vivid  a  picture  that  he  hardly 
knew  what  he  said  or  did  for  the  few  succeeding 
moments.  Having  introduced  'him  to  the  scene  of 
his  future  labors  both  the  young  people  became 
frankly  familiar.  Cecil  prompted  Alec  to  tell  all 
sorts  of  fantastic  freaks  to  which  they  had  forced 
their  father's  great  undertaking  to  lend  itself.  They 


30  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

both  bubbled  over  with  glee,  humoring  each  other 
by  every  variety  of  childish  reminiscences.  It  was 
unnecessary  for  Medhurst  to  take  any  part  in  the 
game  save  that  of  indulgent  listener.  He  had 
begun  by  being  somewhat  annoyed,  but  he  ended 
by  being  amused.  There  were  both  sweetness 
and  seductiveness  in  Cecil :  her  face  took  a  fresh 
meaning  every  moment ;  she  might  be  arch,  she 
might  be  satirical,  but  she  was  bewitching.  She 
alternately  turned  to  him  with  the  clear  pose  of  a 
woman  of  the  world  and  with  an  artless  smile. 
Beginning  by  a  sort  of  autobiographical  sketch, 
which  linked  itself  with  the  various  processes  of 
her  father's  great  idea,  the  help  she  had  given  him 
through  numerous  difficulties,  she  finally  entered 
upon  the  subject  of  his  present  advantages  in  hav- 
ing secured  such  a  secretary.  She  actually  had  the 
audacity  to  rally  Medhurst  himself. 

"  I  know  very  well  that  you  are  a  universal 
genius,"  she  remarked,  with  mischievous  ease. 
"  Papa  said  he  examined  you  on  every  subject,  and 
touched  bottom  nowhere." 

Medhurst  glanced  at  Miss  Haxtoun,  then  looked 
away. 

"  You  are,  I  believe,  a  regular  cosmopolitan,  a 
citizen  of  the  world,"  she  went  on.  "  You  have 
lived  everywhere." 

"  Exactly." 

"  I  thought  so.  It  is  so  delightful  to  think  you 
have  done  everything.  We  are  narrow  and  pro- 
vincial, —  regular  Philistines,  as  I  was  just  saying. 
But  you  are  like  Mr.  Rodney  Heriot,  —  at  home  any- 
where between  the  poles  and  the  equator ;  can  dine 


A  LOOKER-ON  IN   VIENNA.  31 

on  rice  or  whale-blubber ;  wear  sandals  or  snow- 
shoes.  But,  dear  me,  how  tame  and  uninteresting 
you  will  think  us  !  " 

Medhurst  hardly  knew  whether  to  be  enraged  or 
to  break  out  laughing.  Accordingly  he  smiled 
grimly  and  held  his  tongue. 

"  We  are  terribly  dull,"  she  pursued  vaguely. 
"  We  live  so  near  town  that  it  never  seems  worth 
•while  to  go  to  town.  It  is  always  too  wet  or  too 
dry,  too  hot  or  too  cold,  or  some  of  our  relations  are 
sick  or  dead.  We  stay  here  all  the  year  round,  see 
nothing,  hear  nothing,  do  nothing,  —  except  Alec, 
of  course.  He  belongs  to  the  actual  world.  He 
mixes  in  the  excitements  of  real  life.  He  goes  into 
town  every  morning  at  nine,  and  does  not  return 
until  three  o'clock.  He  is  an  eminent  lawyer." 

"I'm  too  eminent,"  Alec  struck  in.  "One  of 
the  Haxtouns  of  Rosendale,  people  say,  and  no- 
body thinks  of  giving  me  a  brief.  Nobody  has  a 
chance  to  find  out  my  consummate  cleverness,  and 
it  is  taken  for  granted  that  my  legal  studies  are  an 
elegant  fiction,  an  apology  for  indolence.  What  I 
pine  for  is  to  roll  up  my  sleeves  and  go  to  work  and 
make  some  money  ;  but  I  can  only  "  — 

"  Roll  cigarettes,"  suggested  Cecil. 

Both  laughed  as  at  some  unique  witticism.  They 
had  left  the  book-room,  and  were  standing  on  the 
back  piazza,  and  here,  on  the  river-side,  were  charm- 
ing vistas  opening  to  the  banks  of  the  Delaware. 
They  walked  down  the  path  to  the  shore.  Sunset  was 
over ;  but  a  few  blushing,  translucent  clouds  still 
floated  over  the  gold  and  amber  of  the  west,  and,  re- 
flected in  the  river,  showed  the  track  of  a  passing 


32  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

boat,  a  trembling,  fluctuating  wake  of  rose  and 
flame.  The  old  house  stood  but  little  above  the 
water's  edge  ;  it  was  covered  with  luxuriant  creepers, 
but  looked  dark  and  deserted.  Between  the  cottage 
and  the  river  were  two  gravelled  terraces,  one  above 
the  other,  each  bordered  with  rows  of  white  lilacs 
now  in  full  bloom.  Medhurst  hardly  knew  himself. 
The  dreamy  hour,  the  charming  views  on  either 
hand,  the  lilac  scents,  the  illusion  of  easy,  sympa- 
thetic companionship,  made  him  dread  his  own 
pleasurable  sensations.  The  walk  wns  wide  enough 
for  three,  and  he  paced  along  by  Miss  Haxtoun's 
side,  listening  to  her,  and  occasionally  putting  in  a 
word. 

"  Rodney  Heriot  is  coming  to  tea,"  Alec  said 
suddenly. 

"  Yon  ought  to  go  in,  then  !  " 

•  "  Heriot  is  likely  to  surprise  }"ou,"  Alec  remarked, 
turning  to  Medhurst. 

"  Is  he  a  young  man?" 

"  No ;  not  to  say  young.  He  is  probabl}*  thirty- 
five." 

"  He  seems  to  me  older  than  that,"  said  Cecil. 
"  He  has  done  so  many  things.  He  is  like  a  person 
who  gets  up  early  in  the  morning  and  accomplishes 
everything,  then  has  a  long  stupid  afternoon  left  on 
his  hands." 

"  What  Heriot  has  not  done,"  said  Alec,  with  a 
suggestive  look  at  Medhurst,  "  is  not  worth  doing." 

"  Yet  you  call  your  neighborhood  tame  and  unin- 
teresting ?  " 

"  His  mother  lives  here,  and  he  is  visiting  her. 
She  was  married  twice,  and  he  was  the  son  of  her 


A   LOOKER-ON  IN   VIENNA.  33 

first  husband.  She  lost  her  second  a  year  or  more 
ago.  Heriot  arrived  in  March,  and  had  no  intention 
of  staying  ;  but  he  has  not  gone  away,  nor  do  I  think 
he  is  likely  to  go." 

Medhurst  had  finally  gained  one  distinct  impres- 
sion. It  was  that  Heriot  was  in  love  with  Miss 
Haxtoun.  Everything  else  was  vague,  but  this  was 
clear. 

For  some  reason,  more  or  less  occult,  Medhurst 
felt  at  once  in  more  harmonious  relations  with  his 
surroundings.  He  was  anxious  to  see  Heriot,  and 
observe  his  manner  to  this  lovely,  imperious,  and 
rather  bewildering  Miss  Haxtoun.  He  said  to  him- 
self that  he  would  make  the  utmos't  of  his  present 
experiment,  as  an  opportunity  for  social  observation. 
He  had  already  written  a  novel,  and  had  at  times  been 
impelled  to  pause,  and  wish  that  he  had  more  ample 
knowledge  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  gay  world 
whose  follies  he  was  so  ready  to  deride.  He  could 
now  become  a  looker-on,  without  r61e  or  phrases  of 
his  own,  and  could  study  the  habits  and  characteris- 
tics of  the  choicest  specimens  of  youth  and  beauty. 

At  this  moment  Rodney  Heriot  approached  the 
party  of  young  people.  He  went  straight  up  to 
Cecil,  to  whom  he  bowed,  without  offering  his  hand  ; 
and  she,  for  the  first  time  since  Medhurst  had  seen 
her,  wore  an  air  of  constraint,  drew  herself  to  her 
full  height,  and  seemed  in  a  freezing  mood. 

"  How  are  you,  Heriot?  "  said  Alec.  "  Let  me  in- 
troduce you  and  Mr.  Medhurst  to  each  other." 

tk  Is  it  the  new  secretary?  "  asked  Rodney  Heriot. 

"  I  am  the  new  secretary,"  Medhurst  returned. 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  with  some  curiosity. 


34  A   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

They  were  the  same  height,  but  Rodney  Heriot 
looked  the  taller,  as  he  was  excessively  slight,  and 
his  figure  was  rather  ill-proportioned.  He  was, 
nevertheless,  a  striking-looking  man,  with  a  com- 
manding air  and  a  peculiarly  expressive  face.  He 
had  large  blue  eyes,  a  thin,  sensitively  outlined 
mouth,  and  his  skin  was  delicate  as  agiiTs.  His  face 
beardless,  without  even  a  mustache,  and  his  pale 
brown  hair  was  scanty.  He  gave  the  impression  of  a 
versatile  and  doubtful  personality.  His  eyes  puzzled 
and  annoyed  any  one  inclined  to  make  him  a  study. 
They  were  at  times  hard,  cold,  and  relentless ; 
again,  clear  and  frank :  they  could  soften  and 
brighten,  and  darken  too.  But  his  whole  face  sug- 
gested as  much  whim  as  intellect,  and  his  habitual 
manner  was  that  of  one  whose  individuality  is  aggres- 
sive, and  allows  few  encroachments  from  others. 

"So  you  are  the  spirit  I  called  from  the  vasty 
deep,"  he  said  to  Medhurst.  "  I  told  Mr.  Haxtouu 
he  needed  a  secretary.  Do  you  feel  grateful  to 
me?" 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  returned  Medhurst.  "  I  am 
not  an  amphibious  animal,  and  feel  out  of  my  ele- 
ment entirely." 

They  had  shaken  hands,  but  still  looked  at  each 
other  as  if  deepening  their  mutual  impression. 

"Now,  look  here,"  said  Rodne}r  Heriot,  in  a 
light,  easy  tone  ;  "  having  evoked  you  I  must  know 
the  secret  of  you.  What  is  your  name  and  age  and 
station  ?  " 

"  I  am  twenty-eight  years  old.  My  name  is 
Francis  Medhurst.  My  station  is  as  you  see." 

They  both  laughed. 


A  LOOKER-ON  IN   VIENNA.  35 

"  I  must  find  out  more  than  that,"  said  Rodney. 
"Do  you  remember  the  fate  of  the  wizard's  servant, 
who  discovered  the  secret  of  incantation  and  raised  a 
demon,  but  knew  not  how  to  dismiss  him  ?  " 

They  both  laughed  again. 

"  What  was  that?"  inquired  Alec,  who  was  a 
little  puzzled  by  the  dialogue. 

"It  was  a  sad  story,"  said  Rodnety.  "The 
moral  is,  that  a  man  ought  to  let  well  enough  alone." 

It  had  grown  suddenly  darker.  A  summons  to 
tea  came  from  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  and  Rodney  Heriot 
offered  his  arm  to  Cecil.  She  declined  it,  and  walked 
on  ahead,  looking  very  tall  and  slight  as  she  mounted 
the  terraces  flitting  towards  the  lighted  house.  The 
three  men  followed,  Alec  doing  most  of  the  talking. 
All  the  color  had  withdrawn  out  of  the  sky  ;  not  a 
flower  showed ;  a  chilly  wind  came  up  from  the 
river. 


36  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 


CHAPTER  III. 

TABLE-TALK. 

n~lHERE  were  eight  at  the  tea-table,  which  was 
-L  lighted  by  twelve  candles,  in  high  silver 
candlesticks.  Rodney  Heriot  took  the  chair  at  Mrs. 
Haxtoun's  right  hand,  and  Cecil  sat  on  his  other 
side.  Medhurst's  place  was  between  Mr.  Haxtoun 
and  Miss  Winchester.  The  old  gentleman  had 
apparently  recovered  from  his  unfavorable  symptoms 
of  an  hour  before.  He  had  spent  the  time  giving 
his  wife  an  elaborate  detailed  account  of  his  doings 
during  his  six  days'  absence.  He  had,  it  seemed  to 
him,  accomplished  his  purpose  in  a  masterly  manner, 
and  he  wanted  her  assurance  of  this  ;  he  had  set  out 
to  prove  that  he  had  not  only  avoided  all  the  dangers 
he  had  foreseen,  but  had  warded  off  those  unex- 
pected and  intrusive  difficulties  which  defy  predic- 
tion, turning  up  at  every  corner  and  threatening 
accident  and  vexation.  His  wife  had  ended  by 
showing  the  most  amiable  spirit  of  obedience  and 
acquiescence.  However  shaken  might  be  her  views 
of  her  husband's  far-seeing  knowledge  of  the  world, 
there  was  in  him  a  fatal  facility  for  explanation, 
for  argument,  for  careful  balancing  of  expediencies, 
which  forced  her  to  succumb.  Ever  since  her 
marriage,  Mrs.  Haxtoun  had  intended  to  have  her 


TABLE-TALK.  37 

own  way ;  but  the  occasion  when  she  should  do  so 
was  still  a  matter  requiring  prophetic  conjecture. 
She  disliked  the  country  ;  yet  she  lived  in  the  country 
all  the  year  round.  She  had  wished  to  go  abroad 
after  Cecil  was  through  her  studies ;  but  she  had  not 
gone  abroad.  Her  anxiety  was  that  Cecil  should 
make  a  desirable  marriage,  and  just  at  this  moment, 
when  Mr.  Rodney  Heriot  was  beginning  to  show 
unmistakable  matrimonial  intentions,  Mr.  Haxtoun 
had  introduced  a  young  man  into  the  house,  as  if 
with  the  very  design  of  giving  Cecil  an  opportunity 
for  capricious  conduct,  fluctuating  feelings,  and, 
possibly,  romantic  flights  of  fancy.  Every  woe  of  her 
life,  Mrs.  Haxtoun  said  within  her  own  mind,  was 
part  of  an  Aryan  epic.  Her  husband's  great  work 
met  her  at  every  turn,  tormenting,  defying,  denying ; 
yet  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  make  him  under- 
stand this.  It  was  not  in  Mrs.  Haxtoun's  nature  to 
be  dictatorial  or  strenuous.  A  woman,  she  believed, 
should  conquer  by  renunciation  and  self-sacrifice ; 
she  should  yield  with  such  grace  that  chivalrous  man 
would  be  eager  not  only  to  reinstate  her,  but  offer 
her  ampler  powers  and  wider  scope.  She  would  rather 
never  have  her  way  than  not  be  kneeled  to  and 
made  the  object  of  a  hand-kissing  devotion.  But, 
nevertheless,  Mrs.  Haxtoun  wanted  her  own  way, 
and  never  more  than  now,  when  Mr.  Rodney  Heriot 
sat  between  her  and  Cecil,  and  made  each  the  object 
of  his  little  attentions.  Mrs.  Haxtoun  accepted 
them  with  easy,  smiling  grace.  Cecil  seemed  un- 
conscious of  th£in.  It  had  before  now  impressed 
Mrs.  Haxtoun  that  Cecil  failed  to  appreciate  the 
fascinations  of  her  suitor.  He  was  self-possessed, 


38  ^   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

observant,  and  did  everything  in  good  taste,  and  he 
was,  besides,  a  capital  talker.  He  had  had  plenty  of 
experiences,  and  was  willing  to  use  them  to  give  a 
piquant  or  amusing  turn  to  conversation  ;  but  he 
never  lost  a  certain  tone  ;  he  said  nothing  with  too 
much  emphasis  ;  he  never  insisted  on  his  hearers 
being  monopolized  by  his  ideas.  In  short,  to  Mrs. 
Haxtouu's  mind  he  was  perfect  in  evcr}T-day  inter- 
course ;  so  different  from  Mr.  Snow,  her  niece's 
fiance,  who  took  himself  seriously,  and  even  if  he 
had  a  theory  concerning  the  change  of  weather  was 
apparent!}'  under  the  painful  pressure  of  a  tre- 
mendous idea.  Mrs.  Haxtoun  liked  a  man  who 
could  be  free  on  occasions  of  himself,  —  throw  self 
and  its  limitations  away.  She  had  perhaps  suf- 
fered from  the  opposite  characteristics. 

"It  is  a  singular  coincidence,"  Mr.  Haxtoun 
remarked,  the  moment  the  dish-covers  were  taken 
off,  "  that  when  I  am  especially  hungry  every- 
thing offered  should  be  of  the  most  unwholesome 
description.  Now,  of  all  things  to  give  a  worn- 
out  traveller,  devilled  crabs  are  the  worst"  — 

"My  dear  Leonard,"  cried  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  "  }Tou 
told  me  you  had  dined ;  and  there  are  cold  tongue 
and  some  delicious  cream-toast,  and"  — 

"But  they  would  never  satisfy  me,  my  dear 
Jenny.  I  crave  something  highly  seasoned,  and  at 
the  same  time  simple  and  substantial." 

"The  devilled  crabs  are  just  the  thing,"  said 
Rodney  Heriot,  "  with  a  little  of  that  asparagus 
and  mayonnaise." 

"I'm  afraid  yon  are  joking,"  remarked  Mr.  Hax- 
toun, with  mild  disapproval.  "  Young  men  do  not 


TABLE-TALK.  39 

regard  these  matters  as  important.  Ah,  Sarah, 
what  is  on  that  platter  across  the  table?" 

"  It  is  cold  salmon,"  cried  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  with  dis- 
ma}'.  "I  did  not  want  you  to  see  this,  Leonard; 
you  know  it  always  hurts  you." 

"Under  some  circumstances  it  might  do  so? 
but  hardly  to-night,"  said  Mr.  Haxtoun,  who  liked 
salmon  mayonnaise.  "  My  dinner,  as  you  call  it, 
Jenny,  was  a  mere  lunch  of  cutlets  and  spinach. 
The  cutlets  must  have  been  underdone ;  they  have 
distressed  me  ever  since.  I  ought  never  to  eat  veal 
away  from  home ;  but  the  fact  is,  my  dear,  you 
never  have  it  on  the  table  here." 

"  You  know  very  well  why.  You  observe,"  said 
Mrs.  Haxtoun  to  her  next  neighbor,  "  my  husband's 
diet  is  governed  by  fancy,  and  experience  does 
nothing  for  him." 

"  I  make  it  a  point  to  regard  the  food  "before  me 
with  a  frank  and  friendly  feeling,  rather  than  a  cold, 
suspicious  one,"  said  Heriot. 

"  Treachery  often  lurks  under  an  innocent-look- 
ing dish-cover,"  remarked  Mr.  Haxtoun,  mournfully. 
"It  is  my  profound  conviction  that  the  proper 
kind  of  food  for  human  beings  has  not  yet  been 
invented." 

"The  old  lady  drinks  bouillon"  said  Rodney 
Ileriot,  who  thus, alluded  to  his  mamma.  "She 
takes  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  all  through 
the  da}',  and  the  last  thing  at  night.  I'm  not  sure 
but  what  her  maid  wakes  her  up  to  give  it  to  her 
every  two  hours." 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  come  to  beef-tea  and  to  gruel, 
also,  a  little  later,"  said  Mr.  Haxtoun,  rather  testily. 


40  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"We  all  shall,"  put  in  Rodney.  "I  relish  a 
thousand  simple,  innocent  things  I  never  expected 
to.  When  I  first  came  the  old  lady  used  to  have 
elaborate  dinners  for  me  ;  but  I  put  an  end  to  that. 
I  eat  a  chop  and  a  couple  of  vegetables,  a  dish  qf 
macaroni,  and  a  sprig  of  celery,  at  three  o'clock." 

"You  have  the  most  absolute  savoir-vivre,"  said 
Mrs.  Hastoun. 

"  Have  I?  I  am  not  so  sure  about  that.  There 
are  signals  posted  all  along  a  man's  course,  —  not  too 
much.  One  pulls  up  a  little  naturally  at  these  warn- 
ings, —  when  one  is  not  hungry.  I  used  to  like 
turtle-soup,  a  truffled  Ji'et,  and  a  bottle  of  iced 
clicquot.  Now  I  am  in  love  with  simple  pastoral 
pleasures,  —  nectar,  ambrosia." 

"  What  are  nectar  and  ambrosia?"  asked  Cecil. 

"  Something  delicious,"  returned  Rodney  Heriot. 

"  Made  of  cream  and  sugar?" 

"  It  must  be  very  unhealth}","  said  Mr.  Haxtoun. 
"  Sweet  things  ruin  the  constitution." 

"Mr.  Heriot  is  talking  figuratively,  my  dear," 
cried  Mrs.  Haxtotm.  "He  was  alluding  to  simple 
pastoral  pleasures  "  — 

"  Making  hay  while  the  sun  shines,"  said  Alec. 

"  Hay-making  will  soon  be  obsolete,"  remarked  Mr. 
Haxtoun.  "  Ensilage  is  a  much  better  system.'-' 

"  Oh,  please,  my  dear,  do  no$  talk  to  us  about 
ensilage." 

"  But,  Jenny,  it  is  an  invention  of  great  value, 
not  only  to  the  agriculturist,  but  to  sufferers  like 
myself  from  hay-fever." 

"Hay-fever?"  said  Rodney  Heriot. 

"  Ever3rbody  except  Mr.  Haxtoun  likes  the  smell 


TABLE-TALK.  41 

of  new-mown  hay,"  struck  in  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  ner- 
vously. She  had  a  high  ideal  of  what  table- 
talk  should  be.  Here  was  the  prettiest  and  most 
elegant  of  tables, —  crystal,  china,  silver,  damask,  all 
most  dainty  and  exquisite.  Nothing  was  lacking  ex- 
cept airy  and  agreeable  talk,  wit  and  badinage ;  but 
how  was  even  the  cleverest  of  hostesses  to  contrive 
this,  when  the  host  had  a  way  of  seizing  the  lightest 
soap-bubble  of  allusion,  and  converting  it  into  a 
heavy  missile,  which  came  back  with  depressing 
effect? 

"  Mrs.  Haxtoun  always  pretends  not  to  believe  in 
hay-fever,"  said  her  husband,  with  a  painful  smile, 
"  although  I  have  been  a  victim  to  it  for  forty  years. 
I  assure  you,  Mr.  Heriot,  it  is  a  form  of  martyr- 
dom occasioning  acute  suffering,  although  it  wins 
scant  S3Tmpathy.  The  moment  the  grass  is  cut  in  the 
neighborhood  all  my  nasal  mucous  membrane  "  — 

"Yes,  yes,  dearest  Leonard,  I  know  how  you 
suffer,"  said  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  soothingly;  "but"  — 

"Smell  —  respiration  through  the  usual  air-pas- 
sages —  becomes  difficult ;  tears  stream  "  — 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  murmured  Mrs.  Haxtoun. 

"  By  all  means  let  us  have  ensilage,"  said  Rodney 
Heriot.  "  Such  woes  make  ordinary  hay  too  dear." 

"  What  is  ensilage?  "  asked  Cecil. 

"  I  don't  know,  Miss  Haxtoun.  Is  it  not  enough 
to  satisfy  you  that  it  will  lighten  the  sum  of  human 
misery  ?  " 

"  It  seems  a  deuced  pity,"  said  Mr.  Snow,  with 
deep  emphasis,  "that  everything  time-honored,  pic- 
turesque and  poetic  should  be  "  —  He  paused  and 
fumbled  for  a  word. 


42  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Banished,  Edgar,"  murmured  Miss  Winchester, 
apprehending  the  critical  condition  of  his  struggling 
idea,  which  could  not  entirely  break  its  shell. 

"  So  to  speak  —  banished.  Now,  formerly,  there 
were  the  mowers  and  their  scythes,  —  regular  old 
Father  Times,  you  know." 

"  And  now  they  have  mowing-machines  instead," 
said  Miss  Winchester,  brightening  visibby  at  her  clear 
perception  of  her  lover's  meaning. 

*'  And  before  long  the  grass  will  be  whisked  off 
without  even  falling  to  the  ground,  and  there  won't 
be  an  atom  of  "  —  Mr.  Snow,  whose  eloquence  was 
spasmodic,  was  lost  again. 

"Poetry;  no  'midsummer  when  the  hay  was 
down';  nothing  but  tame,  stupid  prose,"  finished 
Miss  Winchester,  realizing  that  they  were  emerging 
from  the  ordeal  with  eclat. 

"  Often  eighteen  and  twenty  handkerchiefs  a 
day,"  Mr.  Haxtoun  was  now  heard  to  say,  having 
struggled  manfully  against  difficulties  and  secured  a 
listener  in  Medhurst.  "  A  perpetual  tendency  to  " — 

Mrs.  Haxtouu  breathed  more  freely.  Medhurst 
was  listening  to  his  employer  with  an  air  of  absorbed 
attention,  and  she  began  to  realize  that  some  com- 
pensation might  exist  for  her  in  the  general  scheme 
of  things.  If  Mr.  Haxtoun  were  to  find  a  congenial 
companion  in  his  secretaiy,  —  in  other  words,  an 
apparently  admiring  listener,  —  the  average  of 
domestic  joy  at  Rosendale  might  be  considerably  in- 
creased. It  would  be,  in  fact,  Medhurst's  duty  to 
listen  to  Mr.  Haxtoun,  whether  he  discussed  Aryan 
epics  <x.  his  indigestions.  He  could  listen,  too,  with- 
out any  feeling  that  he  was  doing  his  patron  a  wrong. 


TABLE-TALK.  43 

A  wife  must  beware  of  helping  to  build  up  preposter- 
ous illusions  in  her  husband's  mind  of  his  being  a 
more  momentous  and  interesting  person  than  he 
really  is  ;  yet  at  the  same  time  she  must  not  venture 
to  hint  at  the  most  obvious  oversight  in  his  views, 
or  in  any  way  to  be  in  the  right  herself.  His  confi- 
dent assertions  of  the  erroneous  must  be  cautiously 
met  with  by  her  "  Don't  you  think,"  or,  "  But  if  " 
find  other  expedients  of  the  nicest  tact,  and  the 
most  delicate  evasions.  But  Medhurst  need  not  be 
too  conscientious  ;  he  need  not  insist  on  the  formal 
agreement  of  his  private  premises  and  Mr.  Hax 
toun's  conclusions.  He  was  paid  for  the  work,  and 
need  not  stick  at  obstacles  in  the  way.  Insensibly 
the  cloud  lifted  from  Mrs.  Haxtoun's  pretty  brow, 
and  when  she  led  the  way  into  the  parlor,  and 
arranged  the  whist-table,  she  felt  almost  grateful  to 
the  chance  which  had  brought  a  young  fellow  like 
Medhurst  to  the  house.  He  could  play  whist  with 
his  patron  ;  and  for  Mr.  Haxtoun  to  have  a  partner 
at  whist  who  was  neither  his  wife,  nor  his  son,  nor 
his  daughter,  was  a  solid  gain  of  comfort. 

Medhurst  was  nothing  loth.  He  liked  the  look  of 
the  long,  pleasant  room,  full  of  easy-chairs  and  wide, 
roomy  sofas  ;  but  he  would  have  felt  oppressed  if  he 
had  been  forced  to  sit  down  without  other  occupa- 
tion than  to  watch  and  listen  to  the  groups.  He 
took  his  seat  opposite  the  old  gentleman  at  the 
whist-table,  congratulating  himself  that  at  last  the 
eternal  flow  of  disputations  must  pause, —  whist  was, 
at  least,  a  silent  game.  Miss  Winchester  and  Mr. 
Snow  were  the  other  partners.  Mrs.  Haxtoun  sat 
down  with  her  work  at  a  table  near,  with  a  shaded 


44  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

lamp,  and  Cecil  took  a  stool  at  her  feet.  Mr.  Heriot 
watched  everybody's  else  movements  before  dispos- 
ing of  himself,  and  stood  at  the  mantel-piece  looking 
at  a  photograph  of  Cecil,  taken  when  she  was  a  little 
girl  of  ten.  Alec,  who  admired  the  guest  and  longed 
to  be  intimate  with  him,  hovered  about,  but  found 
Heriot  by  no  means  disposed  to  talk. 

Meanwhile  the  first  hand  of  the  game  at  whist 
had  been  played  through,  and  Mr.  Haxtoun  and  his 
partner  had  scored  the  odd  trick,  which  was,  Med- 
hurst  thought,  doing  very  well,  as  his  own  cards  had 
promised  no  such  result. 

Mr.  Haxtoun,  however,  began,  in  a  plaintive 
voice :  — 

"  Did  you  not  see,  Mr.  Medhurst,  that  Snow  was 
ready  to  trump  the  heart?" 

"  I  confess  I  did  not.  And  my  lead  seemed  a 
mere  choice  of  evils." 

"  Never  regard  it  in  that  way,"  said  Mr.  Haxtoun, 
with  a  sort  of  wail.  "A  lead  is  a  great  opportu- 
nity ;  everything  depends  upon  it.  And,  permit 
me  to  say,  you  made  three  different  errors  in  your 
lead  :  first,  in  returning  mine  you  were  too  precipitate, 
—  you  should  have  shown  your  long  suit  first,  —  and 
you  should  have  given  me  back  your  strongest  card  ; 
and  allow  me  to  remark  that,  with  the  queen,  knave, 
and  ten,  you  must  invariably  lead  the  queen  ;  and 
you  should  have  led  up  to  Snow's  weak  suit,  and 
through  Lilly's  strong  one." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  sorry  I  was  all  wrong,"  muttered 
Medhurst.  "  Stupid  of  me  !  " 

"  And  I  could  have  taken  that  club,"  pursued 
Mr.  Haxtoun,  in  a  voice  of  bitter  anguish.  "  If  you 


TABLE-TALK.  45 

had  observed  my  play  you  would  have  seen  that  I 
had  the  knave,  and  it  was  wholly  unnecessary  for 
you  to  trump  my  nine  of  diamonds,  for  it  was  the 
highest  card.  It  was  such  a  pity  not  to  have  saved 
that  trump.  Lilly  trumped  over  you  ;  she  was  certain 
to  trump,  certain,"  —  Mr.  Haxtoun's  voice  rang  out 
piercingl}*, — "  so  that  my  play  weakened  their  hands, 
and  your  throwing  away  a  spade  would  have  strength- 
ened ours.  I  am  afraid  we  lost  two  tricks  —  two 
tricks !  One  more  trick  I  am  absolutely  sure  we 
might  have  made." 

By  this  time  Medhurst's  recollections  of  the  hand 
were  as  faint  as  "  les  nieges  d'antan  "  ;  but  lie  was 
ready  to  admire  his  partner's  grasp  of  the  situation. 
He  determined  to  mind  his  own  game,  and  sum- 
moned all  his  remote  acquirements  of  rules  and  sug- 
gestions. But  he  was  at  once  involved  in  a  dilemma. 
He  had  a  good  hand  of  trumps,  but,  fancying  he  saw 
a  chance  for  a  profitable  "  saw,"  he  trumped  when 
his  partner  led  a  low  card.  This  only  was  necessary 
to  prove  to  Mr.  Haxtoun  that  he  had  no  knowledge 
of  the  game. 

"May  I  inquire  how  many  trumps  you  had?" 
said  Mr.  Haxtoun,  in  a  soft  voice,  his  head  on  one 
side,  when  the  hand  was  over. 

"  Five,"  said  Medhurst. 

"Is  it  possible?  Heavens  and  earth!"  cried 
Mr.  Haxtoun,  infusing  all  the  solemnity  of  an  invo- 
cation into  his  formula.  He  then  proceeded  to  tell 
his  partner  what  had  been  lost  by  his  misplay.  It 
had  been  apparently  one  of  those  unique  opportu- 
nities when  the  mere  cards  one  holds  are  of  no  ac- 
count ;  when  address,  skill,  and  subtle  observation 


46  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

can  do  everything.  Yet,  by  a  simple  piece  of  careless- 
ness, perhaps  of  ignorance,  these  possible  results 
had  been  hazarded,  put  in  jeopardy,  by  that  dread- 
ful act  of  trumping.  The  affair  was  really  serious. 
Medhurst  began  to  fear  the  old  gentleman  would 
shortly  come  around  and  collar  him,  asking  him 
what  the  devil  he  meant  by  it. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  could  have  taken  a  trick 
more,  Uncle  Leonard,"  observed  Lilly. 

"  By  Jove,  no  !  They  made  three  as  it  was,"  put 
in  Arthur  Snow. 

But  that  apparently  made  no  difference  to  Mr. 
Haxtoun,  who  evidently  s'inquietait  de  perfection 
bien  plus  que  de  gloire.  Medhurst's  failings  and 
shortcomings  were  no  doubt  plentiful,  but  he  was 
not  allowed  to  be  unconscious  of  them.  He  began 
to  feel  timid,  apologetic,  and  not  a  little  cross  ;  to 
regard  technicalities  as  a  bore,  and  correctness  of 
play  as  an  art  beyond  him.  The  old  gentleman, 
however,  being  used  to  these  stormy  intervals  between 
the  hands,  was  quite  contented  with  his  partner,  and 
felt  no  doubt  that  his  partner  was  equally  contented 
with  him. 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  listened  from  a  little  distance  with 
considerable  approval  of  Medhurst's  bearing  under 
affliction.  If  there  must  be  a  secretary  it  was, 
after  all,  well  to  have  a  }*oung  one.  A  man  bears 
the  yoke  in  his  youth  with  better  grace  than  later  in 
life.  She  understood  very  well  that  her  husband 
was  having  a  capital  time.  There  was  nothing 
menacing  or  portentous  in  his  tone  yet.  Accord- 
ingly she  could  give  a  large  part  of  her  attention  to 
Rodney  Heriot,  who  had  drawn '  an  easy-chair  near, 


TABLE-TALK.  47 

and  was  talking  to  both  her  and  Cecil.  The  group, 
to  the  eyes  of  a  man  situated  as  Medhurst  was  at 
present,  was  typical  of  much  that  is  delightful.  He 
took  note  of  Cecil's  attitude,  as  of  other  details,  and 
wondered  what  sort  of  a  look  was  in  her  eyes  as  she 
raised  them  to  her  admirer.  He  watched  it  all 
without  bitterness  of  feeling,  and  resolving  in  his 
own  mind  never  again  to  enter  the  parlor  in  the 
evening,  at  the  risk  of  becoming  Mr.  Haxtoun's  part- 
ner, was  not  even  vindictive  against  the  present  form 
of  innocent  recreation. 


48  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MOTHER    AND    SON. 

MRS.  ESTE'S  dining-room  would  have  made  a 
good  feature  of  a  mediaeval  castle.  As  it 
was  it  had  been  the  central  idea  from  which  the 
late  Mr.  Est6  developed  his  Queen  Anne  house,  on  the 
Delaware.  He  had  found  a  set  of  oak  furniture  in 
the  north  of  England,  for  which  he  had  wished  to 
build  a  room,  and  he  had  spared  neither  money  nor 
trouble  to  make  it  perfect. 

"  Carved  with  figures  strauge  and  sweet, 
All  made  out  of  the  carver's  brain," 

was  the  great  buffet,  which  took  up  half  the  side  of 
the  room,  from  floor  to  ceiling  ;  and  so  were  the  tables, 
chairs,  and  settles.  There  were  friezes  of  flowers  and 
birds  ;  panels  representing  chases  through  wood  and 
dell  with  huntsmen,  dogs,  and  deer  ;  knights  and  ladies  ; 
gargoyles  and  grinning  masks  ;  coats-of-arms,  crests 
and  quarterings ;  legends  cut  into  every  moulding  in 
quaint  characters,  giving  homely  old  Saxon  proverbs 
and  saws.  The  room  was  so  dark,  with  its  black 
carvings,  its  crimson  and  leather,  its  oak-studded 
ceiling,  that  it  required  all  the  morning  sunshine 
which  could  pour  in,  and  all  the  vistas  the  open 


MOTHER  AND   SON.  49 

doors  and  windows  commanded  into  the  out-door 
radiance  of  earth  and  sky.  There  were,  too,  the 
glitter  of  massive  gold  and  silver  on  the  sideboard ; 
the  white  of  the  lace-bordered  linen,  which  just 
covered  the  top  of  the  table  without  hiding  the  rare 
carvings  of  the  sides,  and  the  brilliant  colors  of 
the  porcelain.  Mrs.  Este,  sitting  in  her  high-backed 
chair,  needed  just  such  a  background  to  set  off  her 
white  morning-gown,  her  delicate,  babyish  old  face, 
the  little,  fluffy,  silvery  curls,  surmounted  by  a  bit 
of  Honiton.  Mrs.  Est6  hud  been  far  from  young 
when  she  made  her  first  marriage  forty  years  be- 
fore, and  one  felt  almost  a  dread  of  knowing  what 
her  actual  present  age  might  be.  Her  son  was 
in  the  habit  of  rallying  her  concerning  it  when  he 
wished  to  vex  her. 

"  I  was  a  young  woman  when  you  were  born, 
Rodney,"  she  would  reply,  "  and  a  pretty  woman; 
so  you  can  quarrel  with  me  for  nothing." 

This  was  true.  Mrs.  Est6  had  been  an  acknowl- 
edged beauty  at  the  time  of  her  marriage  to  Mr. 
Heriot,  and  after  his  death  had  been  a  fascinating 
widow  for  ten  years,  but  had  then  made  a  second  al- 
liance. Her  first  match  had  been  a  good  one  ;  the 
second  was  brilliant.  Mr.  Est6  was  one  of  the  most 
successful  railroad  men  of  his  day,  and  at  his  death 
left  his  property  unconditionally  to  his  widow. 
Rodney  Heriot  had  been  nineteen  when  his  mother 
married  Mr.  Este",  and  there  had  been  some  es- 
trangement between  mother  and  son  in  consequence. 
She  had  had  three  children  by  her  first  husband,  of 
whom  the  eldest,  a  girl,  died  in  infancy,  and  Her- 
bert, the  youngest,  at  the  age  of  ten.  Thus  Rodney 


50  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

was  the  only  survivor.  Whatever  he  became  in 
after-life,  as  a  boy  he  was  inclined  to  wholesome, 
youthful,  romantic  views.  He  adored  his  pretty 
little  mother,  and  Hamlet  hardly  suffered  more  at  his 
parent's  second  marriage.  "Hyperion  to  a  satyr" 
would  have  been  to  his  mind  a  mild  rendering  of  the 
difference  between  his  father  and  his  successor.  Mr. 
Este  was  considerably  younger  than  his  wife  ;  a  Swiss 
by  birth,  a  German  by  education,  who  had  made  a 
lucky  invention  and  brought  it  to  this  country,  where 
he  realized  handsomely  upon  it.  He  then  applied 
the  proceeds  to  large  financial  operations,  whose 
success  was  so  fabulous,  so  unprecedented,  that  the 
insignificant  little  man  became  to  every  one  save  his 
step-son  a  most  important  personage.  The  two 
hated  each  other,  and  when  Rodney  was  twenty- 
one  Mr.  Este  told  bis  wife  to  give  over  to  her  boy 
every  cent  of  his  father's  fortune  and  let  him  go. 
Rodney  went,  nothing  loth.  "'Banished?  What's 
banished  but  set  free  from  daily  contact  with  the 
things  I  loathe?'"  he  declaimed,  like  a  second 
Catiline. 

For  the  ensuing  fourteen  years  Mrs.  Est6  had  a 
grievance  which  her  husband  was  ready  to  acknowl- 
edge. He  had  sent  her  only  child  away  from  her, 
and  he  had  the  loss  to  make  good.  He  lavished 
upon  her  everything  she  wanted,  and  she  wanted 
everything  the  world  contained.  Ever}'  summer  she 
went  to  Europe,  and  if  Rodney  had  nothing  pleas- 
anter  to  do  he  joined  her  for  a  month  at  her  villa  on 
the  Lago  Maggiore,  —  dajTs  longed  for  by  the  poor, 
withering  beauty,  then  wasted  in  poignant  vexations, 
bickerings,  and  recriminations  ;  finally  regretted  and 


MOTHER  AND   SON.   •  51 

remembered  as  if  they  had  brought  her  the  sweetest 
maternal  joys.  When  Est6  finally  lay  dying  he 
probably  knew  that  it  was  certain  to  be  Rodney 
lleriot  who  was  to  profit  by  his  accumulations,  —  the 
boy  he  had  hated  for  his  handsome  face  and  his 
patrician  air,  quite  as  much  as  for  his  gibes,  his  sar- 
casm, his  freakish  rebellions.  Rodney  had  spent  all 
his  own  money  long  before  his  step-father's  death, 
and  had,  in  fact,  been  living  on  his  mother's  secret 
remittances  for  five  years.  In  his  confused  impres- 
sions of  his  relations  to  life  and  the  world  in  general 
it  had  mattered  little  to  him  where  his  money  came 
from  so  long  as  he  had  it  in  his  pocket.  Sometimes, 
when  he  had  felt  worn  out,  and  had  indulged  in  hazy 
wishes  for  something  which  might  profit  him  more 
than  his  incessant  pursuit  after  enjoyment,  he  had 
expressed  an  opinion  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing 
if  Este  were  to  die  and  give  him  a  chance  to  go  home 
and  live  with  his  mother.  But  when  the  longed-for 
event  actually  came  to  pass  Rodney  showed  no 
haste  to  change  his  ways  of  life. 

Under  the  circumstances  Mrs.  Este"  felt  that  the 
least  she  could  do  was  to  show  herself  a  deeply- 
afflicted  widow.  She  wrote  sheet  upon  sheet  of 
black-bordered  note-paper  to  her  son,  telling  him 
how  good  her  poor  August  had  been  to  her.  She 
talked  about  her  religious  aspirations  and  conso- 
lations, and  quoted  from  the  devotional  books  she 
was  reading  at  this  crisis.  Rodney  only  glanced 
through  these  effusions.  He  knew  his  pretty  mamma 
so  well  by  this  time  that  he  believed  her  only  ambi- 
tion was  to  pose  for  a  part,  and  play  it  out  success- 
full)-.  He  had  found  so  much  that  was  false  in  her 


52  A  -MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

it  hindered  his  belief  in  the  true.  He  had  seen  her  a 
widow  before,  in  sweeping  crape  gowns,  with  a  liu^e 
frill  at  her  throat  and  a  coquettish  cap,  Thomas  a 
Kempis  in  one  hand  and  a  crumpled  black-bordered 
handkerchief  in  the  other,  wet  with  her  incessant 
tears.  The  spectacle  then  had  filled  him  with  the 
tenderest  woe.  Nowadays  he  smiled  at  present  and 
past  with  equal  disbelief. 

"  I  know  you  are  in  a  dreadful  state  of  grief  over 
the  late  lamented  EsteY'  Rodney  wrote  to  her.  "A 
man  so  pleasing,  so  refined,  so  complete  in  all  the 
essentials  which  enchant  a  woman's  taste,  must  be 
properly  mourned.  It  is  a  mysterious  dispensation, 
which  cut  him  off  in  the  flower  of  his  days,  and  left 
you  to  enjoy  his  wealth.  But  take  heart  of  grace  ; 
these  sorrows  for  rich  husbands  have  their  compen- 
sations. As  for  my  going  home  to  mingle  my  tears 
with  yours  the  thought  is  too  affecting.  By-and- 
by,  when  your  grief  is  a  trifle  quenched,  you  may 
expect  a  visit  from  me." 

Time  did  wonders  for  Mrs.  Este,  and  at  the  end 
of  six  months  she  made  no  more  allusions  to  her 
husband,  used  cream-tinted  paper,  and  wrote  to  her 
son  he  had  better  come.  Something  more  enticing 
was  on  hand  for  his  amusement,  however,  and  he 
put  it  off  for  a  year.  When  he  finally  came  he  took 
his  mother  by  surprise.  She  had  intended  to  be  in 
New  York  at  the  time  of  his  arrival ;  but  had  been 
staying  in  the  country,  too  despondent  to  go  back 
to  her  town  life,  and  take  up  her  social  duties.  She 
felt  old  and  lonely,  and  was  unhappy  about  her  boy. 
He  was  not  a  good  son  to  her,  she  told  herself, 
with  bitter  tears  in  her  weary  old  eyes.  She 


MOTHER  AND    SON.  53 

seemed  suddenly  surprised  that  Rodney  should  in 
any  wa}*  have  failed  to  meet  her  wishes,  and  answer 
her  needs.  She  had  trained  him  faultlessly  as  re- 
gards manners  ;  he  had  the  air  of  a  little  prince  from 
the  time  he  was  admitted  to  her  table,  a  velvet- 
coated  stripling.  She  had  spared  no  pains  to  give 
him  the  correct  tone  ;  she  had  taught  him  what  was 
fit,  and  what  was  unfit,  for  the  liking  of  a  man  of  the 
world.  He  was  to  know  everything  to  a  degree,  — 
eat  of  every  apple  once.  To  touch  his  heart,  save 
with  admiration  of  her  own  prettiness  and  elegance, 
she  had  never  striven  ;  to  foster  his  aspirations  after 
things  noble,  pure,  and  lofty,  instead  of  deaden- 
ing them  by  cynical  representations  of  the  meaning 
of  the  life  which  went  on  about  her,  had  been  an 
effort  beyond  her  little,  frivolous,  worldly  brain. 
But  when  he  had  been  a  little  lad  he  had  worshipped 
her,  hovering  about  her  with  adoration  in  his  blue 
eyes  ;  and  she  wanted  his  love  now.  She  had  always 
had  somebody  devoted  to  her,  and  she  knew  not  how 
to  live  without  some  sort  of  incense.  The  flavor 
had  gone  out  of  life  now  that  the  little,  fussy, 
anxious,  ambitious  Este*  was  no  longer  at  her  side, 
to  stimulate  her  into  efforts  to  display  his  wealth, 
and  outshine  the  wives  of  his  fellows  on  Wall 
street. 

Early  in  March,  two  months  or  more  before  our 
story  opens,  Rodney  Heriot  walked  into  his  mother's 
house  one  day.  He  had  been  seized  by  a  whim  to 
come,  he  said,  but  should  probably  take  the  steamer 
back  next  week,  as  he  wanted  to  be  in  London 
by  Easter.  Nevertheless  he  stayed  on.  He  be- 
came at  first  conscious  of  comfort ;  his  rooms 


54  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

were  pleasant ;  the  house  was  full  of  idle  servants 
devoted  to  him.  He  found,  too,  that  his  mother 
had  grown  older,  and  her  man  of  business  told  him 
that  she  ought  not  to  be  lefc  alone,  for  she  got 
morbid  and  flighty.  Added  to  these  inducements  to 
remain  Rodney  had  another. 

"  If  you  will  marry  Cecil  Haxtoun,"  Mrs.  Est6 
said,  when  he  had  been  at  home  six  weeks,  "  I  will 
make  a  handsome  provision  for  you.  Of  course 
you  will  have  everything  when  I  die,  but  you  will 
not  need  to  wait  for  that." 

Rodney  showed  no  marked  indication  of  purpose 
after  this  suggestion,  but  he  said  nothing  further 
concerning  any  intention  to  spend  the  season  in 
England.  He  had  come  back  to  his  mother  loaded 
with  debts,  but  he  had  not  confessed  them.  He 
had  always  observed  that  by  maintaining  absolute 
silence  concerning  his  affairs  he  kept  her  in  dread  of 
disclosures  which  might  terrify  her,  and  made  her 
anxious  to  stave  off  any  trouble  by  lavish  presents. 
Thus  her  generosity  had  already  cleared  up  matters 
for  him,  and  he  was  pei'haps  glad  to  feel  himself  for 
the  present  safely  out  of  all  danger  of  getting  into 
new  scrapes. 

After  these  explanations  let  us  return  to  the  din- 
ing-room, where  Mrs.  Est6  and  Rodney  Heriot  were 
eating  their  breakfast,  the  morning  after  he  had 
taken  tea  with  the  Haxtouus.  He  had,  as  usual, 
come  down  at  nine  o'clock,  and  found  his  mother  in 
her  chair.  He  kissed  her  forehead  and  took  his 
place  opposite.  There  was  a  certain  degree  of  like- 
ness between  mother  and  son,  although  the  points 
which  had  made  beauty  in  her,  in  his  case  gave 


MOTHER  AND   SON.  55 

mere  delicacy  and  refinement.  Two  men-servants 
brought  the  breakfast,  and  then  hung  about  the 
sideboard  until  dismissed.  Mrs.  Est6  made  her 
son's  coffee  herself,  with  little,  withered,  trembling 
hands,  pouring  a  few  spoonfuls  of  black  liquid  out 
of  a  diminutive  silver  pot,  and  filling  up  the  cup 
with  cream.  She  herself  ate  and  drank  nothing 
save  her  bouillon.  It  seemed  only  by  an  effort 
that  she  sipped  that.  The  truth  was,  that  until  her 
son  came  home  she  had  not  for  years  been  up  till 
noon,  and  she  could  not  gather  her  forces  until  late  in 
the  day.  Still,  she  pertinaciously  insisted  that  her 
nerveless,  weary  old  body  should  be  dragged  out  of 
bed  at  eight  o'clock,  sponged,  rubbed,  dressed,  and 
led  downstairs,  that  she  might  lend  a  charm  to  her 
boy's  breakfast-table.  There  was  nothing  more 
amusing  to  Rodney  himself  than  making  an  entire 
change  of  his  habits.  It  had  not  belonged  to  his 
scheme  of  existence  to  rise  punctually  at  half-past 
eight  o'clock,  breakfast  on  simple,  wholesome  food, 
walk  over  the  place,  pay  a  morning  visit,  and  spend 
his  evenings  in  a  dull  household,  making  himself 
.interesting,  if  possible,  to  mother  and  daughter; 
but  he  accepted  these  necessary  sacrifices  cheer- 
fully. He  liked  at  present  this  absence  of  sensa- 
tion and  of  all  excitement.  He  enjoyed  the 
solidity  of  his  mother's  possessions,  and  there  was 
some  piquancy  in  the  notion  that  presently  they 
would  all  be  his,  to  make  ducks  and  drakes  of  if  he 
wanted  to.  Under  these  circumstances,  with  some 
millions  in  his  own  right,  what  would  he  want,  what 
should  he  like  ?  He  waited  to  see. 


56  -A.   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

He  watched  the  trembling  motions  of  his  mother's 
hands  as  she  made  his  coffee. 

"  Poor  old  lady  ! "  he  said.  "  What  makes  you  get 
up  at  this  hour  of  the  day  ?  You  might  be  stronger 
if  you  were  to  lie  in  bed  till  noon." 

"Oh,  I  am  strong!  I  go  to  bed  early.  I  like 
to  be  up  in  the  morning,"  returned  Mrs.  Est6. 

"  You  were  in  bed  when  I  came  in,  last  night," 
said  Rodney. 

"  I  went  at  ten  o'clock.  I  got  dismal.  Do  you 
ever  get  dismal,  Rodney?  " 

"  Dismal?  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  If  I 
am  bored  and  savage  with  what  I  am  doing  I  go  and 
do  something  else." 

"  But  then,  a  woman  can't,  — at  any  rate  an  old 
woman.  I  get  frightened.  Some  day  I  shall  die, 
and  I  wonder  to  myself  if  I  am  a  dreadful  sinner, 
and  what  will  become  of  me." 

"No  doubt  you're  a  sinner.  You've  got  good 
wages  in  this  world,  as  anybody  can  see  who  looks 
about  this  house.  You  can't  expect  all  this,  and 
heaven  too."  He  laughed  loudly. 

Mrs.  Est6  shuddered.  Twenty  times  a  day  she 
made  some  kind  of  an  appeal  to  Rodney's  tender- 
ness, and  each  time  when  she  was  repulsed  she  said 
to  herself  it  was  not  worth  her  while  grinding  her 
teeth  upon  the  stone  he  offered  her. 

"Well,  well,"  she  now  said,  with  a  shrug  of  her 
thin  shoulders,  "  we  are  all  sinners,  I  suppose. 
You  are  one,  I  know." 

"  I  never  pretended  to  be  anything  else." 

"  You  must  now.  You  must  be  upon  your  best 
behavior.  Cecil  Haxtoun  is  a  very  bright  girl." 


MOTHER  AND   SON.  57 

"  Yes,  she  is  bright." 

"  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  time  last  evening?  " 
"  If  you  suppose  I  have  a  good  time  going  over  to 
hear  that  old  man  maunder  on  about  his  dyspepsia 
and  other  complaints,  and  blow  up  his  partner  at 
whist,  your  imagination  concerning  my  preferences 
is  not  lively." 

"  But  you  go  all  the  time." 

"  One  is  thankful  to  have  anything  to  do  in  the 
country.  By  Jove !  I  shall  end  by  falling  in  love 
with  that  girl.  I  get  so  little  of  her  society  it  keeps 
my  appetite  at  the  keenest." 

"•  You  mean  that  you  don't  see  Cecil?" 
"  Oh,  I  see  Cecil,  —  pretty  little  devil  that  she  is  ! " 
"  If  you  see  her  that  ought  to  satisfy  you." 
"Ought  it?     You've  been  a  pretty  woman  your- 
self, and  must  know  how  admirably  it  contents  a  man 
to  see  a  girl  and  never  have  her  to  himself.     Every- 
thing in  the  world  should  be  enjoyed  in  its  ^>wn 
special  way.     I  like  a  picture  on  the  wall,  but "  — 

"Your  time  will  come.  She  is  young;  she  will 
keep." 

"  The  other  night,"  continued  Rodney,  with  his 
loud,  rather  sharp  laugh,  "  I  contrived  to  get  her  on 
a  sofa  beside  me.  Mrs.  Haxtoun  seemed  to  be 
asleep  in  her  chair,  and  the  engaged  noodles  were  in 
the  next  room.  '  Now,'  said  I  to  myself,  '  I'll  see 
if  I  can  warm  her  up  a  little.'  She  had  been  an 
iceberg  all  the  evening.  She  looked  delicious,  — 
that  side-view  of  her  cheek,  and  ear,  and  throat ; 
occasionally  she  turned  her  face  and  let  me  see  her 
eyes.  Well,  just  as  I  was  about  to  say  something 
that  would  rankle,  in  stalked  the  old  gentleman,  on 


58  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

his  way  to  bed,  with  a  basket  of  silver  in  each 
hand.  He  observed,  with  disappointment  and  dis- 
gust, that  a  visitor  was  still  there,  and  began  to 
march  up  and  down  the  room." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"I  came  away.  If  Cecil  had  been  a  married 
woman,  and  the  enemy  her  husband,  it  might  have 
paid  to  stay  till  past  midnight.  He  is  the  most  in- 
supportable old  bore  !  I  wonder  what  kind  of  an 
old  man  I  shall  make.  Do  you  suppose  I  shall  turn 
out  such  a  burlesque  on  humanity  as  most  old  fel- 
lows?" 

"  You  never  know  what  a  man  may  develop  into 
after  he  becomes  a  pere  de  famille." 

"  I  swear  I  will  keep  on  the  safe  side,  then." 

"You  are  too  clever,  too  much  the  master  of 
yourself,  to  turn  out  a  bore." 

"Spare  my  rosy  blushes.  I  don't  imagine  old 
Haxtoun  bears  the  most  phantasmal  resemblance  to 
what  he  was  as  a  young  man." 

"  I  remember  him  when  he  married  Jane  Schuyler. 
He  was  twenty  years  older  than  she,  but  it  was  con- 
sidered a  charming  match.  But  he  was  a  regular 
old  bachelor,  had  lived  all  his  life  in  Philadelphia, 
and  anybody  might  have  foreseen  just  the  set,  formal 
routine  he  would  take  a  girl  into." 

"  You  want  me  to  marry  Cecil.  I  must  be  fifteen 
years  older  than  she  is." 

"  But  you  have  not  lived  in  Philadelphia  all  your 
life." 

"  I  have  missed  those  moral  advantages,  surely." 

"  Mrs.  Haxtoun  mourns  over  Cecil's  small  oppor- 
tunities. Years  ago  Mr.  Haxtoun  would  insist  on 


MOTHER  AND   SON.  59 

living  in  the  country,  in  order  that  he  might  avoid 
noise  and  interruptions,  and  she  was  glad  to  give  in, 
that  she  might  save  expense,  and  be  able  to  spend 
lavishly  on  her  children's  education.  As  soon  as 
Cecil  was  eighteen  she  went  to  pass  half  the  year 
in  town  ;  but  Mr.  Haxtoun  could  not  be  coaxed  into  it. 
She  longed  to  go  to  Europe  ;  but  he  will  not  consent 
to  go  himself,  or  let  her  go  until  he  has  finished  his 
book." 

"•  Cecil  has  had  opportunities  enough.  The 
mother  wants  to  marry  her  to  an  English  peer,  no 
doubt." 

"  At  any  rate,  if  the  girl  had  been  brought  up  in 
a  different  way  you  would  not  have  liked  her  so 
well." 

"  How  well  do  }TOU  suppose  I  like  her?"  asked 
Rodney.  He  had  finished  his  breakfast,  and  was 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  holding  a  cigar  in  his  left 
hand.  There  was  enough  of  boyishness  in  his 
look  and  attitude  to  flatter  maternal  illusions  that 
he  retained  poetry  and  high  spirits  beneath  the 
crust  of  worldliness  which  he  liked  to  exhibit.  She 
nodded  with  a  motion  which  fluttered  the  airy  little 
curls  about  her  forehead. 

"  I  think  you  like  her  pretty  well  already,"  said 
she. 

He  snapped  his  thumb  and  finger. 

"  I  never  actually  cared  that  for  any  woman,"  he 
exclaimed. 

"  I  do  not  believe  it." 

"Believe  it  or  not,  as  you  like;  but  I  never 
cared  that  for  any  woman,"  he  said,  repeating  the 
action.  « 


60  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  were  never  on 
your  knees  before  any  woman?" 

"Oh,  plenty  of  them  !" 

Mrs.  Est6  shook  her  head. 

"  Then  I  am  sorry  for  you.  It  is  not  to  your 
credit.  I  don't  know  why  you  shouldn't  have  in- 
herited a  heart.  Your  father  "  —  She  pulled  herself 
up  n  little.  She  had  learned  not  to  sentimentalize 
about  herself  and  her  experience.  "But  you  will 
fall  in  love  now.  Cecil  is  charming,"  she  said,  with 
vivacity.  "  Shouldn't  you  like  a  wife?  " 

"  For  a  week,  —  yes." 

"Oh,  you  will  fall  in  love!  Something  will  rise 
presently,  and  master  that  hard,  cynical  intellectu- 
ality of  your  nature.  When  it  comes  give  yourself 
up  to  it.  Let  it  come,  like  a  wave  drowning  reason 
and  resistance." 

Rodney  laughed  again. 

"  I  am  not  unwilling.     I  admire  the  girl." 

"Does  she  like  you?"  asked  Mrs.  Este",  peering 
into  her  son's  face.  It  seemed  to  her  he  flushed  a 
little. 

"  How  should  I  know?     I  never  asked  her." 

"  Does  she  treat  you  uniformly  alike?  " 

"  Uniformly  alike?  She  is  as  changeable  as  the 
wind.  One  time  she  seems  ready  to  crush  me  with 
her  cool  disdain,  and  will  hardly  throw  me  a  word. 
Then  again  she  will  be  brimming  over  with  talk,  and 
pour  it  out  until  her  mother  puts  an  extinguisher  on 
her.  Sometimes  she  is  soft  enough  to  melt  in  my 
mouth,  and  again  she  puts  my  teeth  on  edge." 

"Mark  my  words,"  said  Mrs.  Este"  ;  "  she  is  in 
love  witk  you,  Rodney." 


MOTHER  AND   SON.  61 

He  bent  down  his  head,  and  leaned  his  chin  upon 
his  breast.  His  color  had  certainly  risen,  and  his 
mother  watched  him  with  some  feminine  triumph. 

"  How  could  she  help  being  in  love  with  you?" 
Mrs.  Este  pursued.  "  She  never  saw  anybody  to 
compare  with  you." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  my  fascinations.  Take  rather 
a  reckless,  brilliant  woman  of  the  world,  and  I  do 
very  well ;  with  Fanny  Dalton,  for  instance,  nothing 
is  wasted.  She  knows  everything,  understands  every- 
thing, and  one  loses  nothing  there ;  she  gives  one 
back  as  good  as  she  gets,  if  it  is  only  by  the  curve 
of  her  lips,  or  the  laugh  in  the  corner  of  her  eyes. 
But  a  young  girl !  Who  can  tell  what  is  going  on 
in  that  mind  of  hers  ?  With  all  that  fire  there  must 
be  plenty  of  fuel.  There  is  nothing  she  will  stop 
at,  if  she  feels  inclined  to  say  it ;  yet  she  is  appar- 
ently absolutely  unconscious  that  her  words  carry 
the  least  meaning.  Impelled  by  the  irresistible 
feminine  instinct  for  forbidden  fruit,  she  constantly 
breaks  over  barriers  and  boundaries." 

' '  Cecil  is  so  innocent !  You  ought  to  adore  her 
for  it.  You  ought  to  thank  her  mother  for  bringing 
her  up  under  her  own  eye"  — 

"  I  have  seen  girls  before  brought  up  under  their 
mother's  eye  ;  yet  what  they  did  not  know  was  not 
worth  knowing.  However,  I  do  not  say  I  disbelieve 
in  innocence  and  ignorance ;  and  if  I  were  to 
marry,  I  should  like  to  marry  an  innocent  girl,  who 
was  in  love  with  me." 

"  I  predict  that  you  will." 

"If  she  falls  in  love  with  me  at  present,  it  is 
sheer  disinterested  goodness  on  her  part.  I  am  dull ; 


62  '  A   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

I  am  insipid ;  I  am  too  serious.  With  a  father 
who  is  a  perfect  -wind-bag  of  conceit  and  whim, 
and  a  mother  who  is  afraid  her  daughter  will  not 
be  safely  chaperoned,  I  have  no  chance.  If  you 
really  want  to  do  anything  for  me,  mother,  now  is 
your  time !  Give  me  an  opportunity  to  make  love 
to  Cecil." 

"I'll  ask  her  over  here." 

"  She  will  be  petrified  by  the  infernal  dulness  of 
the  place.  Use  your  invention.  Entertain  a  little." 

"  Suppose  I  ask  Fanny  Dalton  to  come  for  a 
month.  She  has  written  again  and  again,  begging 
an  invitation." 

"  There  is  always  so  much  drama,  where  Fanny 
is." 

"That  is  what  you  want,  —  drama.  Fanny 
wants  to  marry  you  ;  but  you  will  not  let  her  marry 

you." 

"  No,  — not  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  But,  utterly  convinced  of  the  impossibility  of 
that,  she  would  help  you  to  marry  somebody  else." 

"  All  I  want  is  somebody  to  keep  things  going." 

"  Keep  things  going,  and  herself  on  top  of  them. 
I  will  promise  Fanny  an  outfit  from  Paris  —  one  or 
two  of  Worth's  dresses  in  it —  if  she  will  help  us." 

"  You  have  the  ingenuity  of  the  evil  one.  When 
Satan  wishes  to  lure  woman  into  his  kingdom,  he 
sings  just  such  a  song  as  yours.  Write  to  Fanny." 

Rodney's  commands  were  rarely  so  definite.  It  was 
general!}'  a  trifle  benumbing  to  his  mother's  powers 
to  feel  that  he  wished  anything  from  her.  He  indulged 
in  the  most  generalizing  form  of  speech  while  in- 
timating his  wishes ;  but  there  was  no  lack  of 


MOTHER  AND   SON.  63 

definite  decision  in  his  actual  requirements,  and 
everything  left  undone  was  certain  to  stir  anger  of  a 
swift,  deeply  cutting  kind.  He  was  in  a  very  good 
humor  to-day.  Mrs.  Este"  followed  him  to  the  door, 
and  stood  there  a  moment  in  the  sunshine,  and 
watched  him  light  his  cigar  and  stroll  across  the 
lawn  towards  the  stables.  She  was  not  apt  to  show 
herself  in  so  strong  a  light ;  but  there  was  no  one 
here  to  observe  her.  In  spite  of  the  prettiness  and 
infanlillage  of  her  make-up,  she  looked  old  and 
felt  old.  The  soft  wind  moved  the  white,  airy  curls 
about  her  forehead,  and  freshened  her  a  little.  How 
bright  the  world  was !  Everything  was  green ; 
everything  was  bursting  into  blossom,  all  the  air 
had  a  scent  of  flowers.  But  such  beauty  mocked 
her.  She  had  no  part  in  it.  She  must  huddle  into 
the  twilight,  and  hear  from  far,  far  away  the  mur- 
mur of  the  world  to  which  she  had  once  belonged. 
She  must  use  what  little  strength  she  had  writing  to 
Fanny  Dalton.  Fanny  would  be  an  efficient  person 
in  this  great,  silent  house. 

Mrs.  Este  crept  upstairs,  and  sat  down  in  her 
morning- room  before  her  desk.  She  pondered 
vaguely  over  Rodney's  mental  attitude  towards  Cecil. 
He  wanted  to  be  loved,  which  was  a  more  fatal  sign 
in  a  man  like  him  than  being  in  love.  Perhaps  he 
felt,  —  who  knows  ?  —  that  he  had  not  compassed  a 
fair  experience.  He  had  not  had  much  love  yet ;  no 
sisters,  no  cousins ;  perhaps,  as  he  said,  no  inam- 
oratas. She  wondered  what  he  had  been  through. 
Sometimes,  looking  at  his  delicate,  cold-cut  fuce 
and  his  cruel  blue  eyes,  she  felt  as  if  he  had  a  whole 
inferno  of  memories  behind  him  ;  but  he"  was  living 


64  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

quietly  enough  now.  Mrs.  Este"  had  good  taste. 
She  always  took  a  certain  tone  with  men  concerning 
young  girls  ;  but  in  her  heart  she  fully  believed  Cecil 
was  anxious  to  marry  her  son.  He  was  almost  an 
ideal  parti.  He  would  have  everything  to  give  a 
wife ;  and  what  else  does  a  girl  ask  ?  Cecil  was 
clever ;  she  had  been  trained  in  the  art  de  se  faire 
valoir.  Girls  were  clever.  How  clever  she  had 
been  herself !  —  too  clever  sometimes.  But  she  was 
no  longer  clever,  but  old  and  dull.  Sometimes  she 
longed  to  be  quiet  in  her  last  sleep,  pitiless  although 
the  grave  was.  At  the  thought  now  she  shuddered, 
nevertheless.  Something  seemed  to  clutch  at  her 
out  of  the  darkness,  and  she  had  nothing  with  which 
to  save  herself. 

The  thought  of  Fanny  Dalton  was  an  anchor. 
She  drew  her  paper  towards  her,  and  scrawled  a 
letter  of  invitation. 


MEDHURST.  65 


CHAPTER   V. 

MEDHURST. 

MEDHURST  was  introduced  to  Mr.  Haxtoun's 
great  subject  the  morning  after  his  arrival, 
and  for  the  fortnight  ensuing  he  spent  all  his  time 
and  much  of  his  energy  in  mastering  the  details  of 
the  work,  already  in  a  sense  completed,  and  putting 
the  vast  accumulations  of  what  the  author  called 
"  material "  into  shape  for  future  use.  He  found  that 
the  secretaryship,  whicli  he  could  not  yet  make  up 
his  mind  frankly  to  accept,  was  at  least  no  sinecure. 
However  he  might  regard  the  worth  of  his  occupa- 
tions they  were  sufficient  to  engross  all  his  time. 
He  breakfasted  at  half -past  seven,  then  went  to  the 
study,  whence  he  did  not  emerge  until  dinner  at 
three.  After  an  hour  at  table  he  returned  to  his 
desk,  and  employed  himself  making  out  a  fair  copy 
of  his  short-hand  report  of  Mr.  Haxtoun's  dictation. 
Towards  sunset  he  went  down  to  the  river-bank, 
took  a  skiff,  and  rowed  up  the  river  ;  then  drifted  back 
in  the  dusk,  often  lying  at  full  length  in  the  bottom 
of  the  boat.  Tea  was  over  when  he  came  in,  but  he 
found  his  meal  set  out  on  the  study-table,  and  ate  and 
drank  without  troubling  even  a  servant.  At  first  he 
had  been  asked  into  the  parlor  every  evening ;  but 
after  rigidly  declining,  on  the  score  of  necessity  for 


66  -4  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

hard  work  before  bedtime,  he  was  presently  left  to 
himself.  The  evenings  were  now  too  warm  and  too 
short  for  Mr.  Haxtoun's  game  of  whist,  and  dearer 
•to  that  gentleman  than  any  game  was  the  certainty 
that  his  great  work  was  making  fair  progress. 

The  Aryan  epics  soon  became  well-worn  ground 
to  Medhurst.  They  offered  at  first  a  return  to  the 
old  fairy-land  of  poetry  and  romance.  The  noble 
and  beautiful  forms  and  heroic  pictures,  the  sponta- 
neous impulse  of  action  and  feeling  kindling  even 
the  simplest  of  the  stories,  fascinated  him.  After 
making  his  living  for  years  by  dressing  up  the  every- 
day horrible  and  commonplace  into  something  the 
public  should  find  readable,  it  was  grateful  to  free 
his  mind  of  limitations  and  answer  this  beckoning  to 
wide  horizons.  Their  orbit  was  a  large  one,  for  Mr. 
Haxtoun's  scheme  halted  at  nothing.  After  leaving 
his  secretary  to  revel  for  a  time  in  this  carnival  of 
fancy,  the  author  blandly  remarked  that  now,  having 
surveyed  the  field,  they  would  set  to  work.  Their 
object  must  be  to  grasp  the  whole  subject,  —  omit 
nothing  essential,  yet  allow  no  rudimentary  details 
to  hinder  the  concentration  of  their  attention  upon 
the  important  points. 

The  plan  required  nothing  more  than  the  clearest 
judgment,  the  most  ample  and  trained  powers,  the 
most  systematic  and  careful  labor.  In  order  to  com- 
plete the  work  within  two  years,  Mr.  Haxtoun  went 
on  to  say,  they  must  get  ready  ten  pages  of  fools- 
cap, amounting  to  some  three  thousand  five  hundred 
words,  daily.  He  had  prepared  copious  notes,  and 
was  ready  to  dictate  with  the  unfaltering  speech  of 
a  sibyl,  who  overflows  with  inspiration  from  higher 


MED  nun  ST.  67 

powers.  Medhurst,  on  his  side,  was  ready  to  write 
twenty  pages  of  foolscap,  if  need  be.  All  he  wanted 
was  to  give  fair  service,  and  earn  his  wages.  There 
were  difficulties  in  the  way  of  these  excellent  results, 
however,  which  the  young  man  had  not  foreseen. 
Mr.  Haxtoun's  literary  style  was  not  clear ;  it  was 
far  from  concise  ;  it  seemed  at  times  the  answer  to 
the  old  riddle,  and  went  round  and  round  the  house 
without  ever  touching  the  house.  Unfortunately, 
too,  when  occasionally  Medhurst  wished  to  pare  and 
prune,  his  suggestions  only  put  the  author  on  his 
guard. 

"You  see,  my  dear  young  friend,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  "  you  are  a  journalist,  and  have  found 
it  essential  to  acquire  a  style,  which,  though  neat  and 
epigrammatic,  would  seem  flippant  in  a  great  work 
like  this,  which  embodies  solid  and  massive  thought. 
I  would  rather  take  a  long  life  to  do  one  thing 
well,  than  accomplish  fifty  whose  perfection  was 
marred  by  impatience  and  over-haste.  Don't  you 
see  the  force  of  my  remarks  ?  " 

"I  certainly  do,"  said  Medhurst.  "But,  after 
all,  it  is  no  bad  training  for  an  amanuensis  to  write 
for  a  daily  paper.  He  learns  to  be  accurate,  as  well 
as  swift,  —  like  the  rider  who  has  to  jump  through 
the  hoop  at  the  exact  moment,  or  he  will  find  no 
horse  under  him." 

"I  will  make  a  note  of  that  illustration,  if  you 
will  allow  me,"  said  Mr.  Haxtoun.  "  I  may  make 
striking  use  of  it  when  I  am  drawing  my  conclusions. 
But,  after  all,  jrour  application  of  it  is  a  fallacy.  Jf  I 
recall  aright  my  early  experience  at  the  circus  there 
were  a  good  many  hoops,  and  the  rider  only  jumped 


68  A  MIDSUMMEE  MADNESS. 

when  be  had  plenty  of  breath  and  a  good  chance  of 
safety." 

Medhurst  half  groaned,  but  made  no  reply.  He 
had  begun  to  believe  that  to  question  Mr.  Haxtoun's 
methods,  and  sift  his  facts  too  vigorously,  would  be 
to  upset  many  of  his  most  cherished  deductions. 
Sometimes  it  seemed  to  him  that  a  good  stiff  breeze 
of  inquiry  would  blow  everything  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth  ;  that  all  was  chaff,  and  that  there  was  no 
kernel  of  good  wheat  in  the  whole  mass  at  which  he 
was  working.  However,  he  said  within  himself, 
what  did  it  matter?  Mr.  Haxtoun  had  taken  up  the 
occupation  for  his  own  enjoyment.  There  was  no 
doubt  of  his  excellent  scholarship ;  and  if  he  had 
undertaken  to  edit  a  classic  he  might  have  found  his 
powers  amply  recognized ;  but  having,  in  some  un- 
lucky moment,  been  seized  by  the  notion  that  the 
same  idea  la}'  beneath  the  Achilles  of  the  Greeks 
and  the  Siegfried  of  the  Goths,  Ulysses  and 
Tannhauser,  he  was  in  danger  of  being  lost  in  a 
morass,  bewildered  and  benighted.  Faith  had  at 
first  not  been  wanting  in  Medhurst,  and,  at  times 
still,  he  had  days  of  pure  enjoyment.  But  Mr. 
Haxtoun's  speculations  turned  over  and  over  in  such 
endless  vortices,  his  intricacies  were  so  deep,  and 
his  mysteries  so  insoluble,  that  Medhurst  began 
to  regard  the  worth  and  authenticit}"  of  the  plainest 
facts  with  scepticism,  and  could  hardly  avoid  a 
tendency  towards  ridicule  and  opposition.  But, 
after  all,  what  did  it  matter?  Medhurst  reiterated 
to  himself.  Mr.  Haxtoun  had  engaged  him  to  do 
the  work  of  a  mere  machine  ;  the  author  might  die 
before  his  labors  were  complete ;  even  if  finished 


MEDHURST.  G9 

nothing  depended  on  their  success  ;  if  he  liked  to 
work  with  a  probable  result  of  dismal  failure,  it  was 
merely  failing,  — nothing  save  his  vanity  could  suffer, 
—  and  better  men  than  he,  with  salvation  depending 
on  success,  had  worked  wisely  and  still  failed.  All 
he  could  do,  Medhurst  insisted  to  himself,  was  to 
fulfil  his  part  of  the  bargain,  and  turn  out  at  least 
ten  fair  pages  of  copy  a  day. 

Mr.  Haxtoun,  on  his  side,  was  delighted  with  his 
secretary's  capacity  for  steady,  intelligent  work. 
The  pile  of  sheets,  growing  day  by  day  in  his  desk, 
were  beautiful  in  his  eyes.  He  handled  them  with 
a  smile ;  he  showed  them  every  day  to  his  wife  and 
visitors,  and  read  passages  aloud  to  any  one  he  could 
get  to  listen.  He  was  already  negotiating  for  the 
publication  of  the  first  volume,  and  discussing  the 
style  of  binding. 

Medhurst's  introduction  to  Roscndale  had  be- 
wildered him  a  little  by  its  unexpectedness,  and  not 
even  the  experience  of  the  game  of  whist  did  away 
with  the  novelty  of  his  impressions.  After  a  night 
spent  in  alternating  between  wakefulness  and  rest- 
less dreams,  in  which  he  was  perpetually  following  a 
slight,  erect  figure  flitting  on  before  him,  an  arch  face, 
full  of  the  sweetest  mischief,  constantly  turning  back, 
he  decided  that  he  must  use  all  his  strength  of  mind 
not  to  have  his  fancy  taken  possession  of  by  a  witch 
like  Cecil,  against  the  power  of  whose  charms  no 
ordinary  resistance  would  avail.  He  was  appar- 
ently, however,  to  encounter  few  temptations.  His 
daily  routine  became  fixed  and  remained  unchanged, 
and  involved  no  dangers  to  his  peace.  He  occasion- 
ally had  a  talk  with  Alec ;  but  his  acquaintance  with 


70  ^   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

the  ladies  of  the  family  progressed  very  slightly. 
Mr.  Haxtoun  engrossed  him  all  through  dinner,  and 
when  he  was  about  to  rise  Mrs.  Haxtoun  made  a 
point  of  putting  a  few  gracious  questions  to  him. 
As  for  Cecil,  she  hardly  addressed  him  at  all.  She 
was  invariably  late  at  dinner,  having  been  too  full 
of  occupations  to  dress  in  time.  Once  in  her  place 
she  absorbed  everyone  at  the  table  except  her  father, 
beginning  to  narrate,  with  the  liveliest  energy  and 
the  most  unblushing  candor,  everything  she  had 
seen,  said,  and  done  since  breakfast.  She  was  a 
very  pretty  spectacle  of  a  lovely,  babbling  child ; 
yet  piquanc}'  was  not  lacking,  nor  knowledge  of  the 
world  either,  in  the  accounts  of  her  morning's 
amusements. 

Medhurst  discovered  the  art  of  seeming  to  listen 
to  Mr.  Haxtoun,  —  who  invariably  took  dinner  for  an 
opportunity  to  shape  out  some  new  fancy,  and  ex- 
haust its  significance  in  a  sea  of  endless  twaddle,  — 
while  in  reality  he  observed  Cecil  closely.  He 
gathered  facts,  remembered  them,  and  drew  infer- 
ences. Although  he  was  shut  up  in  the  study  from 
morning  until  night,  he  knew  each  day  more  and 
more  about  Miss  Haxtoun  and  Mr.  Rodney  Heriot. 
Medhnrst  had  done  a  little  in  the  way  of  fiction, — 
every  profession  has  its  curriculum,  —  and  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  watch  and  study  this  love-affair, 
which  impressed  him  as  being  a  little  out  of  the 
usual.  Every  pleasant  morning,  between  eleven 
and  twelve,  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  her  daughter  and  niece, 
were  in  the  hubit  of  repairing  to  the  tennis-ground, 
which  was  quite  easily  within  the  range  of  Mod- 
hurst's  eyes,  as  he  sat  at  his  desk,  although  a  group 


MED  HUE  ST.  71 

of  laburnums  just  outside  the  window  screened 
him.  He  could  see,  day  after  day,  Mr.  Heriot  ride 
up  the  avenue,  leave  his  horse  at  the  stables,  and 
saunter  across  the  lawn  to  the  ladies.  He  had  a 
frank,  pleasant  way  with  Mrs.  Haxtoun  and  Miss 
Winchester,  but  before  Cecil  he  seemed  a  little  at  a 
loss.  His  easj*,  unembarrassed  talk  might  not 
falter  ;  but  he  looked  at  her  with  a  sort  of  hesitation. 
It  puzzled  Medhurst  to  know  why  the  suitor  did 
not  advance  faster.  He  considered  Heriot  the 
luckiest  man  he  had  ever  met.  He  had  been  every- 
where and  done  everything,  and  now  had  ample 
wealth  almost  within  his  grasp,  and  a  chance  of  win- 
ning a  beautiful,  young,  unspoiled  girl  for  his  wife. 
A  chance?  A  certainty.  Medhurst,  over  and  over, 
with  some  amusement,  told  himself  that  Miss 
Haxtoun  was  a  coquette.  She  knew  her  power,  and 
was  playing  with  it  a  little,  when  she  alternated 
between  coldness  and  warmth.  One  day  she  would 
listen  to  Heriot  with  a  sort  of  shy  wonder  and  silent 
expectation  ;  at  another  time  she  had  not  a  word  or  a 
look  for  him, — her  mind  seemed  elsewhere.  She 
could  not  sit  still  a  moment.  She  insisted  that  her 
cousin  should  play  tennis  ;  then,  after  her  first  failure 
in  serving,  flung  down  the  racket,  ran  to  a  flower-bed 
and  picked  a  bouquet,  which  she  tore  to  pieces  when 
made.  She  would  sing  to  herself  until  startled  by 
her  mother's  sharp  reprimand,  and  sometimes  break 
out  into  an  inconsequent  burst  of  laughter,  as  if 
some  most  amusing  thought  beguiled  her.  Next 
day,  it  might  be,  she  would  meet  Heriot  with  the 
most  childlike  expressions  of  pleasure,  — would  look 
at  him  frankly  and  fearlessly  and  tell  him  apparently 


72  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

every  stray  thought  which  came  into  her  head. 
What  stimulated  Medhurst's  masculine  perceptions 
was  the  attitude  with  which  Heriot  accepted  all  this. 
He  treated  these  alternations  of  sweetness,  rudeness, 
and  trivialty,  as  if  they  were  nothing  particular. 
JVIedhurst  wondered  if  he  were  actually  in  love  ;  or 
whether  he,  on  his  side,  had  the  same  ebb  and  flow  of 
impulse,  his  own  reserves,  his  own  imaginations. 
This  state  of  things  appeared  foolish  to  a  looker-on. 
Medhurst  could  easily  enough  understand  a  man's 
hesitation  to  offer  merely  himself  to  a  beautiful 
girl,  with  a  doubt  of  his  own  presumption  all  the 
time.  But  there  was  something  very  comprehensive 
in  what  a  man  like  Heriot  had  to  offer.  Success 
seemed  a  thing  definitely  certain.  Medhurst  felt 
sure  that  Cecil  was  easily  to  be  won  by  such  a 
suitor.  He  remembered,  with  marvellous  vividness 
of  memory,  how  a  woman  he  had  once  known  had 
talked  of  the  chance  of  a  rich  marriage,  and  had 
flung  all  obligations  aside  to  make  one.  All  the 
bitterness  of  this  recollection  made  it  clear  to  him 
that  no  girl  had  a  conception  of  happiness  which 
wealth  would  not  fill.  He  expected  any  day  to  hear 
that  Cecil  was  formally  engaged  to  Heriot,  and  it 
naturally  soothed  and  moderated  his  spirit,  and 
tranquillized  his  imagination  concerning  her. 


"WHISTLE  HER   OFF."  73 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"WHISTLE  HER  OFF  AND  LET  HER  DOWN  THE  WIND." 

ONE  evening,  late  in  June,  Medhurst  had  rowed 
up  the  river  towards  sunset,  and  taken  his 
supper  at  a  little  German  beer-garden,  on  the  left 
Lank,  where  a  band  played  three  nights  a  week. 
The  one  actual  pleasure  of  his  life  at  present  was 
to  be  out  in  his  boat.  He  had  always  in  his  early 
days  known  some  river  intimately,  and  had  made  it 
a  part  of  his  fixed  belief  that  for  beauty,  for  ideal 
charm,  nothing  can  equal  a  river  flowing  from  the 
mountains  to  the  sea.  As  he  rowed  up  against  the 
current,  something  seemed  to  lure  him  on,  beckon- 
ing into  the  far,  wide  reaches,  the  mysterious  turn- 
ings, the  beautiful  interminable  distances.  It  always 
seemed  to  ask  him  to  go  on  forever,  and  he  wanted 
to  go  on  forever. 

But  this  evening  he  had  left  his  boat,  and  had  sat 
smoking  and  drinking  beer  in  the  little  garden,  set 
round  with  tubs  of  budding  oleanders  and  hydran- 
geas, listening  to  the  music,  until  a  distant  clock 
struck  nine.  Then,  finding  it  later  than  he  had  sup 
posed,  he  rose,  ran  rapidly  down  the  dusky  fields  to 
the  bank,  jumped  into  his  boat,  tied  to  a  post,  loosed 
it,  and  with  a  single  pull  at  the  oars  shot  out  into 
the  middle  of  the  stream.  The  band  still  played, 


74  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

but  the  notes  of  the  violins  and  flutes  only  reached 
his  ears,  and  then  were  merged  into  the  murmurs  of 
the  river- ripples.  A  curious  little  thrill  of  feeling 
struck  him,  making  him  tremble  from  head  to  foot, 
as  he  listened  to  the  far-off,  persistent,  melancholy 
strain,  which  repeated  itself  again  and  again.  The 
sunset  had  lasted  late,  but  now  only  showed  a  pale 
glow  in  the  north-west ;  the  lights  streamed  from  the 
garden  across  the  black  river;  the  constellations 
blazing  in  the  north  grew  nearer;  a  warm,  south 
wind  blew  up-stream.  He  felt  suddenly  lonely  — 
bitterly  lonely.  He  asked  himself,  with  a  kind  of 
passion,  why  he,  and  he  alone  of  all  men,  stood 
isolated  in  the  world.  While  he  had  sat  listening  to 
the  music,  some  vague,  nameless  ecstasy  had  taken 
possession  of  him,  inspiring  almost  rapture.  He  had 
seemed  to  feel  the  memory,  or  the  expectation,  of 
an  exquisite  happiness.  Now  it  was  quite  over, 
and  he  could  not  recapture  his  sweet  and  glowing 
fancy.  He  felt,  instead,  the  loneliness  and  silence 
of  the  world ;  the  sadness  of  the  black  horizon ; 
the  solemnity  of  the  high  arch  of  the  far-off  heav- 
ens,—  these  toned  down  his  thoughts  austerely, 
and  gave  him  a  feeling  of  unrest.  He  told  him- 
self he  had  two  hours'  work  to  do  before  bed- 
time, and  that  his  mood  had  been  ridiculous.  Still 
it  seemed  to  him  impossible  to  lift  his  oars  and 
row  down  stream.  The  music  still  played  and  kept 
its  hold  upon  his  imagination.  All  at  once  he  re- 
membered why  it  had  affected  him  ;  it  was  a  waltz 
of  Arditi's,  and  he  had  danced  it  3  ears  before  with 
Fanny  Blake.  "While  he  thought  of  it  now,  he  felt 
the  contact  of  her  slender  figure ;  he  experienced 


"WHISTLE  HER   OFF."  75 

the  wild,  youthful  delirium  of  the  waltz,  floating  on 
and  upborne  as.  if  by  pinions  ;  he  saw  Fanny's  ani- 
mated, pale  face,  and  her  melancholy,  half-closed 
eyes.  He  uttered  a  sort  of  cry,  and  stretched  out 
his  arms.  He  longed  to  have  her  beside  him  again 
as  of  old,  witty,  and  sweet,  and  seductive.  While  he 
thought  of  her  the  music  ceased  and  the  glamour  fled. 
He  snatched  his  oars  and  rowed  rapidly  down  the 
river,  and  in  twenty  minutes  had  put  up  his  boat,  and 
was  crossing  the  terraces  towards  the  house.  Pale 
stars  shone  out  from  the  depths  of  rose,  honeysuckle, 
and  syringa.  The  air  was  full,  over-full,  of  perfume. 
He  felt  a  grudging  sense,  that  to  go  in  was  to  lose 
the  beauty  of  the  night,  the  throbbing  joy  of  this 
early  summer  out-of-door  life.  He  would  have  liked 
to  sink  down  among  the  grass  and  the  blossoms, 
tired  b}T  his  exertions,  and  faint  from  spent  emotions, 
and  rest  the  whole  night  through.  But  his  work 
called  him,  and  he  sprang  up  the  steps  of  the  back 
piazza,  and  vaulted  easily  over  the  window-sill  into 
the  dark  book-room.  The  moment  he  was  inside  a 
soft  rustle  made  him  aware  that  he  had  disturbed  some 
occupant,  and,  almost  instantly,  a  match  was 
drawn,  and  one  of  the  caudles  in  the  sconce  was 
lighted. 

kk  Oh,  is  that  you  at  last,  Mr.  Medhurst?"  said 
a  voice  he  knew  very  well. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Haxtoun.  I  jumped  in  at  the  win- 
dow very  unceremoniously." 

"  You  frightened  me  terribly,"  said  Cecil,  stand- 
ing with  the  match  still  burning  in  her  fingers,  and 
staring  at  him  with  dilated  eyes. 

"  But  I  had  no  idea  you  were  here,"  said  Med- 


76  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

hurst,  who  felt  that  he  was  hardly  responsible  for 
her  fears. 

"  Papa  sent  me  for  you  ever  so  long  ago." 

"Indeed!" 

"You  were  not  here,"  continued  Cecil.  "The 
room  seemed  deliciously  cool  and  quiet.  I  was  so 
tired  of  talking  to  the  people  in  the  other  room  I 
sat  down  in  that  chair  for  a  moment's  rest,  and 
I  went  to  sleep." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  I  roused  you." 

44  But  you  did  not ;  I  did  not  sleep  long,"  she 
pursued  confidinglv.  "  I  woke  up  some  little  time 
ago.  At  first  I  could  not  make  out  where  I  was ; 
then  I  remembered,  and  I  grew  afraid,  —  I  seemed 
so  far  away  from  everybody.  It  was  at  that 
moment  I  heard  your  steps,  and  sprang  up  and 
seized  a  match  in  a  dreadful  fright." 

Her  candid  recital  touched  Medlmrst  pleasantly. 
His  mind  as  he  entered  had  been  a  little  savage  ;  but 
this  might  almost  serve  as  an  adventure  to  a  man 
who  had  no  adventures.  She  stood  with  her  back 
to  the  light,  and,  with  her  white  dress,  seemed 
almost  to  shed  light  herself  in  the  dim  room.  Her 
charming,  slight  figure,  her  bare  arms,  the  frill  at 
the  elbow,  the  ruff  at  her  throat,  the  brilliant,  arch 
face,  —  all  these  points,  thrown  into  distinct  relief, 
were  as  clear  to  him  as  a  spirited  etching. 

"  Where  have  you  been?  "  she  asked. 

"  On  the  river." 

"  Is  that  where  you  go  every  night?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  have  wondered  what  you  did.  Do  you  go 
alone?" 


"WHISTLE  HER   OFF."  77 

"  Quite  alone." 

"  Do  you  make  visits  anywhere?  " 

"  Visits  ?  —  no.     Where  should  I  make  visits  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  might  know  people,  —  you  never 
seem  to  care  for  our  society." 

Medhurst  felt  like  laughing. 

"  I  have  no  acquaintances  in  this  vicinity." 

"  You  like  the  exercise,  I  suppose." 

"Perhaps  that  is  it." 

"  You  like  the  change  from  this  dull  room." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  waited  for  what  she  would 
say  next. 

"  I  was  thinking  about  3^011  as  I  sat  here,"  she 
now  remarked. 

"  Before  you  went  to  sleep?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  after  I  woke  up." 

"  That  was  extremely  kind,  and  I  am  flattered." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  nothing  flattering,"  she  returned, 
looking  at  him,  half-smiling.  "  It  occurred  to  me 
that  3-011  must  be  dreadfully  Ionel3r."  She  paused  a 
moment,  and  when  he  made  no  reply  she  went  on  in 
a  half-deprecating  manner,  as  if  finding  it  necessary 
to  substantiate  this  theory.  "  You  are  young,  — 
I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  utterly  indifferent  to 
everything  going  on  among  young  people.  Are  you 
really  so  completely  absorbed  with  those  dreary  old 
epics?  " 

Medhurst  laughed  outright.  He  so  rarely  laughed 
that  this  outburst  surprised  him  as  much  as  it  did 
Cecil. 

"Don't  ask  me  to  make  confessions,"  said  he. 
"  I  might  confess  too  much." 

"  Don't  you  like  yonr  work?  " 


78  A   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Honestly,  I  like  my  work  very  well.  If  I  am 
useful  to  your  father  I  have  no  more  to  ask.  He 
pays  me  good  wages." 

"  Is  that  everything?" 

"  Everything  would  be  too  much." 

"  I  wish  I  might  think  you  were  not  bitter  and 
sad.  You  look  so  sometimes,"  persisted  Cecil. 

"  I  had  not  the  least  notion  you  ever  looked  at 
me." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  ver}r  often  !"said  Cecil,  unhesitatingly. 
"  If  I  did  not,  —  if  I  sat  at  the  table  with  you  day 
after  da}*,  and  had  no  idea  that  you  were  there,  —  I 
should  be  a  very  dull  person." 

"  If  I  sit  at  the  table  looking  bitter  and  sad,"  said 
Medhurst,  lightly,  "  I  ought  not  to  expect  observa- 
tion. I  will  try  to  mend  my  manners." 

"  I  see,"  cried  Cecil,  with  some  petulance,  "  you 
are  determined  not  to  be  friends  with  me." 

"Friends?"  repeated  Medhurst,  somewhat  be- 
wildered. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  you,"  declared  Cecil.  "  I 
should  like  to  talk  with  you  ;  above  all,  to  hear  you 
talk.  I  always  listen  to  what  you  say.  Have  you 
not  noticed  that?  " 

"  I  so  rarely  say  anything." 

"  But  when  you  do,  "  —  she  went  on  breathlessly, 
—  "  then  I  am  sure  to  listen.  I  can  tell  you  many 
things  you  have  said,"  she  added  triumphantly. 

"  Look  here,  Miss  Haxtoun,"  said  Medhurst,  with 
decision;  "you  should  not  say  anything  like  that 
to  me.  Either  you  do  it  in  derision,  which  is  cruel, 
or  you  are  over-kind.  The  position  I  hold  in  the 
house  in  no  way  entitles  me  to  it.  You  have  your 


"WHISTLE  HER   OFF:]  79 

interests  and  occupations  ;  I  have  mine.  They  never 
meet,  never  mingle." 

"  You  do  not  think  I  would  say  it  in  derision," 
faltered  Cecil,  with  a  crimson  face  and  with  a  trem- 
bling voice.  She  was  unable  to  continue.  She 
seemed  overcome  with  shame  at  her  own  boldness. 
Medhurst  looked  at  her  intently. 

"  Perhaps  I  was  harsh,"  said  he  ;  "  if  so,  forgive 
me.  I  am  a  rough  fellow.  You  see  you  had  better 
leave  me  alone." 

"  But  you  do  not  think  I  could  say  anything  in 
derision,"  whispered  Cecil,  her  face  DOW  quite  pale. 

"Honestly,  I  don't.  But  I  am  not  sensitive.  I 
am  not  much  of  a  hero  in  my  own  eyes,  and  have 
no  thought  of  being  so  in  other  people's." 

Cecil  evidently  had  something  more  to  say,  whose 
weight  was  on  her  heart  and  tongue ;  but  she  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment,  and  so  lost  her  chance.  At  this 
instant  a  servant  entered,  bringing  a  message  to 
Medhurst  from  Mr.  Haxtoun,  requesting  his  pres- 
ence in  the  parlor. 

"I  had  quite  forgotten,"  exclaimed  Cecil,  with 
her  habitual  little  laugh,  u  papa  sent  me  for  you." 

"  I  wonder  what  he  wants,  —  a  game  of  whist?  " 

"  I  think  not.  The  room  is  full  of  people  to- 
night." 

Medhurst  ran  his  hand  over  his  hair. 

"  I'm-  not  very  presentable  ;  but  it  does  not  mat- 
ter," said  he,  feeling  that  he  must  be  consistent  with 
his  proud  statement  that  he  did  not  wish  to  play  the 
part  of  hero.  She  led  the  way  at  once,  and  before 
Medhurst  had  received  any  impression  save  of  fol- 
lowing the  crisp,  transparent  draperies,  which  set 


80  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

off  the  tall,  slender  shape  moving  on  before  him,  he 
found  himself  in  the  parlor,  and  was  called  upon  by 
Mr.  Haxtoun  to  give  chapter  and  verse  in  defence 
of  some  statement  the  old  gentleman  had  committed 
himself  to,  which  had  been  challenged  by  Rodney 
Heriot. 


NOTHING,  IF  NOT  CRITICAL."          81 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  NOTHING,   IF   NOT   CRITICAL." 

SOMETHING  unwonted  in  Miss  Haxtoun's 
k_}  aspect,  as  she  entered  the  parlor  after  her  talk 
with  Medhurst,  impressed  Rodney  Heriot  rather  viv- 
idly. It  had  also  a  startling  effect  upon  the  young 
lady's  mamma  ;  but  then  Mrs.  Haxtoun  had  the  chance, 
before  she  slept,  of  acquainting  herself  with  the 
actual  facts  in  the  case,  and,  without  pressing  her  in- 
quiries with  undue  emphasis,  easily  elicited  from  Cecil 
every  word  she  had  said  to  the  secretary,  and  his  an- 
swers to  her.  Rodney  Heriot,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
left  to  draw  his  own  inferences.  Cecil  had  been  sent 
to  the  book-room  by  her  father,  and  three  quarters  of 
an  hour  later  came  in  with  Medhurst,  looking  flushed 
and  radiant.  Rodney  was  in  a  position  to  be  jeal- 
ous, and  he  became  jealous  at  once.  It  was  evident 
to  his  perceptions  that  Medhurst  had  enjoyed  few 
opportunities  of  talking  with  Cecil,  while  his  own, 
though  more  frequent,  had  left  his  experience  a 
blank.  He  needed  nobody  to  tell  him  that  he  had 
never  succeeded  in  rousing  just  that  degree  of  ani- 
mation in  the  young  girl.  She  wore  now  an  air  of 
intense  excitement,  and  seemed  almost  tremulous. 
Thrown  into  the  position  of  outsider  Rodney  could 
observe  coolly  and  critically. 


82  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

He  had  given  himself  up  of  late  to  the  idea  of 
winning  Cecil,  and  had  flattered  himself  he  was  be- 
having with  great  judgment  and  delicacy.  His  views 
were  not  extravagant,  and  what  a  very  young  man 
calls  love  was  not  the  most  active  of  his  emotions. 
He  wanted  novelty,  some  experience  he  had  never 
had  before ;  and  nothing  could  be  more  novel  and 
fresh  than  to  give  himself  up  to  this  intimate  and 
personal  hope.  He  had  been  left  to  himself  since 
he  was  twenty-one,  and  his  habit  had  been  at  times  to 
ask  himself,  sceptically,  how  much  enjoyment  he  had 
got  out  of  life.  He  never  complained  aloud,  but  his 
thought  had  been  that  a  man  never  gets  what  he 
wants  in  this  world :  the  more  he  reaches  out  for 
pleasure  at  any  cost,  knowledge  at  any  cost,  freedom 
at  any  cost,  —  the  more  of  a  dull,  bound  slave  he  is  ; 
compelled  to  smart  every  time  he  tries  to  snatch  at 
the  supreme  flame  which  is  to  satisfy  him.  These 
doubts  of  the  worth  of  any  existence  he  had  ever 
led,  swarming  like  a  cloud  of  bees,  had  dinned  him 
with  their  tumults,  and  stung  him  as  well.  He  be- 
gan to  believe  he  should  end  by  taking  a  disgust  at 
all  the  pleasures  of  life,  and  find  all  his  early  sensi- 
bilities and  instincts  grow  callous.  Thus  it  was  a 
genuine  surprise  to  feel  himself  touched  by  Cecil. 
Even  before  his  mother's  suggestion  that  he  should 
try  to  marry  her.  the  wish  had  crossed  his  mind ;  he 
had  said  to  himself  that  it  might  be  the  best  thing 
he  could  do.  There  was  something  striking  to  him 
in  the  fact  that  his  wish  and  will  —  usually  all  astray 
upon  a  wild  road,  delighting  in  their  errors  and  per- 
sisting in  their  chimeras  —  were  at  last  bound  along 
a  straight  course,  leading  up  to  the  very  altar-rails. 


"NOTHING^   IF  NOT  CRITICAL."          83 

He  had  been  struck  by  Cecil  during  the  first  visit  he 
paid  to  her  mother,  while  she  sat  at  the  table  at 
work,  the  shaded  lamp  lighting  only  her  pretty 
hands  and  the  lower  part  of  her  lovely  face.  She 
had  not  shown  the  least  interest  in  the  conversation 
going  on,  which  had  indeed  dragged  like  a  dull 
game  ;  but  had  occasionally  yawned,  and  passed  her 
lingers  over  her  half-shut,  sleep}''  eyes.  She  had 
seemed  to  him  like  an  adorable  child  ;  and  it  was 
always  easy  for  him  to  love  a  child.  Further  inter- 
course had  deepened  this  impression.  She  seemed  to 
him  full  of  childish  freaks,  all  the  more  piquant  be- 
cause he  was  not  slow  to  understand  that  her  naivete 
came  from  merely  one  side  of  her  mind.  He  had 
thought  to  make  her  a  quiet  study,  beginning  with 
this  virgin  crescent,  and  gradually  rounding  his  ob- 
servation till  he  reached  the  full  orb  ;  and  it  was  ex- 
cessively annoying  to  him  that  he  was  to  be  hurried. 
He  had  waited  for  an  auspicious  moment  before  he 
struck  the  key-note  of  his  love-making  ;  but  now  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  had  wasted  time.  He  was 
ready  to  throw  the  responsibility  of  his  lukewarm- 
ness  upon  Mrs.  Haxtouu,  who  chaperoned  her  daugh- 
ter too  carefully.  That  good  lady  had  tried  to  show 
him  that  her  child  had  been  as  judiciously  brought 
up  as  an  European  jeunefille.  She  had  read  "  Daisy 
Miller  "  with  a  shudder,  and  thought  it  very  unpatri- 
otic of  Mr.  James  to  depict  one  of  his  compatriots 
as  so  lacking  in  a  nice  mother  and  nice  ways.  She 
knew  that  Rodney  Heriot  had  taken  the  chief  color- 
ing and  bias  of  his  views  from  his  European  experi- 
ences ;  and  hence  it  was  that  she  had  rushed  to  the 
chaperonage  of  Cecil,  mustering  alarming  auxiliaries 


84  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

in  the  shape  of  defences.  Her  only  fault  had  been, 
Rodney  said  to  himself,  that  she  bristled  up  at  the 
wrong  time ;  she  would  take  no  hints  ;  her  decorums 
were  too  palpable,  too  visible.  A  duenna  should 
merely  play  the  graceful  and  pretty  part  of  foliage 
to  the  flower,  —  she  should  not  hide  the  flower.  But 
he  acknowledged  all  the  time  that  a  man  should  know 
how  to  pluck  the  rose  he  wants,  no  matter  how  high 
it  grows,  nor  how  closely  it  is  guarded. 

It  had  quickened  his  apprehension  of  his  own 
love  to  see  Cecil  interested  in  another  man.  His 
first  sentiment,  when  introduced  to  Medhurst,  had 
been  one  of  displeasure  that  Mr.  Haxtoun  had  brought 
back  such  a  young  secretary ;  but  the.  feeling  had 
been  momentary,  and  he  had  not  associated  it  with 
any  dread  of  rivalry  where  Cecil  was  concerned. 
Exactly  how  dangerous  a  rival  Medhurst  was  likely 
to  prove,  Rodney  was  now  anxious  to  find  out.  He 
had  set  him  down  as  a  silent,  sulky  fellow ;  but 
there  might  be  something  in  him  which  appealed  to 
a  girl's  imagination.  He  invited  Medhurst  to  come 
over  and  breakfast  with  him  ;  but  Medhurst  declined 
on  the  score  of  being  busy.  He  then  called  in  his 
wagon  to  ask  Medhurst  to  drive  ;  but  Medhurst  was 
out  on  the  river.  Having  learned  that  it  was  in  this 
way  the  secretary  took  his  recreation,  Rodney,  the 
following  afternoon,  himself  got  a  boat,  and  deter- 
mined to  lie  in  wait.  He  had  a  book  of  Marivaux's, 
lying  wide  open  in  the  stern,  and,  half  reclining  on 
the  bottom  of  the  boat,  propped  up  his  chin  with 
his  hand  and  pretended  to  read.  He  was  a  steady 
reader  of  what  he  called  good  literature,  although  he 
had  no  absolute  satisfaction  in  reading.  But  what 


"NOTHING,   IF  NOT  CRITICAL."          85 

any  man  had  done  and  felt  he  liked  to  do  and  feel. 
"  La  Vie  de  Marianne"  had  neither  profit  nor  charm 
for  him  to-day.  He  was  more  interested  in  looking 
at  the  various  river-fronts  of  the  houses  on  the  banks. 
He  knew  them  all  as  kindly,  hospitable  places ;  but 
each,  all  at  once,  took  on  whimsical  characteristics 
to  him.  His  mother's  place,  with  its  high  red 
chimneys,  turrets,  oriels,  gables,  and  dormer  win- 
dows, seemed  a  monstrous  burlesque;  the  Hax- 
touns'  sober  gray  stone  assumed  a  dreary  air.  He 
thought  of  his  mother  against  the  illuminated  back- 
ground of  her  life,  —  a  shivering,  cowering  figure, 
who  was  letting  go  her  hold  of  the  good  things  she 
had  bartered  her  soul  for.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Haxtoun 
walked  across  the  stage,  before  his  mental  view, 
wooden  manikins.  The  very  thought  of  the  people 
in  the  other  villas  made  him  yawn ;  their  green 
lawns,  gay  with  flowers,  representing  a  sure  ele- 
ment of  dreary  gentility  and  mediocrity.  In  this 
monotony  of  commonplaces  it  might  seem  as  if, 
before  a  lover's  eyes,  the  picture  of  his  mistress 
would  take  on  some  ideal  beauty ;  but  such  was  the 
impoverishing  influence  of  Rodney's  present  mood 
that  even  Cecil's  youthful  fascinations  suffered  from 
the  damaging  tendency.  At  this  moment  he  re- 
flected that  marriage  to  a  beautiful  girl  was,  to  a 
man  who  wanted  definite  happiness,  much  like  the 
experience  of  the  hungry  Bedouin,  who  stole  a  sack 
of  pearls,  thinking  it  contained  corn.  What  was 
Cecil's  beauty,  after  all,  since,  while  it  might  delight 
him  once,  it  was  certain  to  make  him  miserable  a 
thousand  times? 

All    at  once   his   frame   of  mind   changed :     the 


86  ^  MIDSUMMER   MADNESS. 

motionless  river-surface,  which  had  placidly  mirrored 
the  skies,  was  ruffled  by  a  little  breeze,  —  the  first 
breath  of  evening,  freshening  and  reviving,  like  a  cool 
hand  laid  on  a  fevered  brow.  The  slight  stirring  of 
wind  brought  the  scent  of  flowers,  and  some  message 
as  well,  to  Rodney,  of  the  throbbing  intensity  of  real 
life  going  on  in  the  world,  but  which  he  had  missed. 
He  felt  the  pain  and  the  sweetness  and  the  longing 
of  it.  At  this  moment,  too,  there  was  a  new  move- 
ment along  the  river  banks,  and  from  the  Huxtouns' 
boat-house  shot  forth  a  skiff,  which,  after  gaining  mid- 
river,  turned  straight  up-stream,  powerfully  propelled. 
"  I  say  !  "  called  Rodney.  "  I  say  !  Medhurst !  " 
Medhurst  crossed  his  oars  and  looked  back  at  his 
starting-place,  then  behind  him,  and  Rodney  had  a 
chance  to  draw  near. 

"  Oh,  is  that  you,  Mr.  Heriot?  "  said  he.  "  Good- 
evening  ! " 

"Shall  we  have  a  pull  together,  starting  fair?" 
"With  all  my  heart." 
"  Well,  give  me  room." 

"  Keep  three  boat-lengths  off,"  said  Medhurst. 
"  All  right." 

Rodney's  first  stroke  was  a  strong  one,  and  sent 
his  boat  half  a  length  ahead  of  Medhurst's,  and  for 
five  hundred  yards  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  likely  to 
keep  the  vantage  so  easily  gained.  He  was  a  little 
surprised  at  his  own  powers,  and  became  the  dupe 
of  more  self-belief  than  the  occasion  warranted.  He 
always  found  it  a  happy  moment  when  he  was  actu- 
ally doing  anything.  Medhurst,  on  his  side,  had 
waited  to  see  what  the  other  was  equal  to.  The 
challenge  had  almost  amused  him,  for  Rodney  inva- 


"NOTHING,   IF  NOT  CRITICAL."          87 

riably  went  through  his  small  social  duties  with 
such  au  indifferent  and  leisurely  air  that  Medhurst 
had  given  him  credit  for  little  more  nerve  or  muscle 
than  he  showed.  But  he  now  found  that  his  com- 
petitor was  master  of  a  very  sure  stroke,  and  knew 
how  to  make  his  force  tell.  Rodney  Heriot  had 
done  a  little  sculling  in  good  company,  just  as  he 
had  done  everything  else.  Medhurst  had,  however, 
no  intention  of  letting  himself  be  beaten.  After  a 
while  he  began  to  put  forth  more  energy ;  at  first 
steady  and  concentrated,  then  more  and  more  im- 
petuous. Rodney  was  left  behind. 

"Hello,  hold  up!"  he  called  out.  "You  must 
have  the  devil  behind  you.  I'm  badly  licked." 

Medhurst  laughed. 

"  You  pull  a  better  oar  than  I  do,"  said  he ;  "  the 
thing  is,  you  are  not  in  training." 

"  When  one  can't  win  it  is  a  neat  thing  to  say 
one  is  out  of  practice." 

"Shall  we  have  another?" 

"  No,  that  will  do.  It  is  definitely  settled  that 
3Tou  have  beaten  me,  and  I  will  rest  there.  It  is 
well  to  know  where  we  stand." 

"  So  be  it.  I  don't  often  have  an  hour  of  triumph. 
Let  me  make  the  most  of  it." 

"  You  owe  me  my  revenge." 

"  Certainly,  when  and  how  you  will." 

"  Let  it  be  now.  Come  back  to  my  mother's 
house,  and  take  tea  with  us.  Honestly,  I  want  to 
get  acquainted  with  3'ou." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you." 

"  No,  you're  not.  You're  a  proud  fellow.  You 
have  held  off  from  me." 


88  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Their  boats  were  close  alongside.  They  were 
looking  frankly  each  into  the  other's  eyes. 

"  Come  back  with  me,"  urged  Rodney. 

"  Let  me  suggest  something,"  said  Medhurst. 
"  There  is  a  little  beer-garden  a  mile  further  on. 
Go  there  with  me,  and  we  can  have  a  talk." 

"But  why  not"  — 

"  You  will  find  me  better  company,"  persisted 
Medhurst,  with  a  frank  smile.  "  Your  house  would 
strike  me  dumb.  I  have  heard  of  its  magnificence." 

"  Very  well ;  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  beer-gar- 
den. As  for  the  house,  it  is  not  my  house.  My 
step-father  wanted  to  see  how  much  money  he  could 
put  into  it.  I  hated  the  man  and  despised  him ;  but 
he  knew  what  to  buy,  —  I  concede  so  much.  Some 
day  it  would  be  worth  your  while  to  go  through  the 
rooms." 

"  Thanks." 

"  If  I  had  come  near  the  place  two  years  ago  I 
should  have  run  the  risk  of  being  ordered  off  the 
premises.  I  owe  my  present  lease  of  comfortable 
existence  to  the  fact  that  my  step-father  is  dead.  I 
often  feel  as  if  his  ghost  would  stride  in  and  croak, 
'  Come,  you  miserable  beggar,  get  out  of  this ! ' 
Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  be  poor?" 

"  If  I  knew  anything  else  do  you  suppose  I  should 
be  Mr.  Haxtoun's  amanuensis?  " 

"You  are  better  off  than  I  am.  I  had  some 
money  once,  but  I  had  spent  it  all  before  I  was 
thirty.  If  I  told  you  how  I  had  lived  since  you 
might  be  in  danger  of  despising  me." 

Medhurst  laughed.  Rodney  Heriot's  eagerness 
to  talk  to  him  puzzled  him,  without  much  interesting 


"NOTHING,   IF  NOT  CRITICAL."          89 

him.  But  this  tone  made  it  clear  that  he  wanted  to 
break  down  the  notion  of  any  social  barriers  being 
interposed  between  their  entire  confidence. 

' '  I  don't  think  you  have  any  clear  idea  of  what 
poverty  is,"  said  he.  "  You  could  hardly  have,  — 
the  only  son  of  a  rich  mother." 

"  Poverty  is  not  the  worst  evil  in  the  world." 

"I  grant  you  that,"  said  Medhurst,  with  some 
heat.  "  I  don't  envy  you.  I  never  wanted  to  be  a 
rich  man  but  one  year  in  my  life." 

"When  was  that?" 

"  Six  years  ago,  when  I  was  twenty-two." 

"You  wanted  money  then  for  some  woman,  I 
suppose." 

"  Exactly ;  I  should  be  afraid  of  it  for  myself." 

"  Should  you?  "asked  Rodney.  "  I  wonder,  now, 
why  you  would  be  afraid  of  it." 

"  Why,  you  see  all  the  fruit  I  long  for  is  Hespe- 
ridean,  golden,  because  I  cannot  get  at  it.  Leisure, 
marriage,  culture,  good  wines,  good  dinners,  travel, 
adventure,  —  the  idea  of  them  carries  zest  along 
with  it.  If  I  were  rich  I  should,  no  doubt,  find  life 
as  dull  as  rich  men  seem  to  do,  and  I  might  blow 
my  brains  out." 

"Leisure,  marriage,  culture,  good  wines,  good 
dinners,  travel,  adventure,"  repeated  Rodney,  telling 
the  words  off  on  his  fingers.  "  Leisure  is  a  name 
for  ennui;  the  pleasures  of  life  are  its  cares  and 
toils.  Marriage  has  never  been  a  habit  of  mine,  but 
few  men  speak  well  of  it.  Culture  I  know  little  or 
nothing  about ;  good  wines  and  good  dinners  bring 
the  very  devil  to  pay  with  a  man's  constitution. 
As  for  travel,  that  would  do  very  well  if  one  had 


90  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

not  to  carry  one's  self  along.  As  for  the  adventures, 
who  has  any  nowadays  ?  " 

"You  can't  be  said  to  have  tried  everything  so 
long  as  you  are  not  married,"  remarked  Medhurst, 
with  rather  a  meaning  smile,  as  he  thought  of 
Heriot's  present  opportunities. 

Rodney  did  not  answer.  They  had  dipped  their 
oars  from  time  to  time  and  now  had  reached  the 
little  floating  dock  below  the  terraces  of  the  beer- 
garden.  They  tied  their  boats  to  the  same  post,  and 
walked  up  the  bank  together.  The  last  rays  of  the 
setting  sun  struck  straight  across  the  landscape,  and 
the  sky  above  and  the  water  beneath  were  both  full 
of  color.  The  two  men  sat  down  at  a  table  under  a 
tree,  where  half-a-dozen  unlighted  Chinese  lanterns 
swung  in  the  evening  breeze,  and  ordered  some 
supper.  Rodney  Heriot  had  a  colloquy  in  German 
with  the  waiter,  who  spoke  English  perfectly,  and 
asked  him  what  he  could  promise  them  that  was 
particularly  good. 

"  The  best  thing  they  have  here  is  very  bad,"  said 
Medhurst. 

"  I  always  like  to  find  out  anybody's  pet  vanity  ; 
discover  a  man's  foible,  and  then  avoid  it." 

Medhurst  registered  an  inward  vow  that  Heriot 
should  not  too  easily  take  his  measure. 

"  Do  you  come  here  often?"  Rodney  inquired. 

"  Once  a  week  or  so." 

"You  like  at  times  to  get  out  of  the  Haxtoun 
grooves  ?  " 

"It  makes  a  little  variety.  The  band  plays 
badly,  but  then  they  bungle  over  very  good  music. 
The  river  is  pretty." 


"NOTHING,   IF  NOT  CRITICAL."          91 

"  Yes,  and  the  oleanders  are  fragrant." 

"Accordingly  I  accept  all  such  opportunities 
for  solacement  in  a  thankful  spirit.  I  have 
plenty  of  silence,  dulness,  vacancy,  after  I  get 
back  to  my  work." 

"Vacancy,"  repeated  Rodney,  with  a  slight  grim- 
ace. 

"Yes,  vacancy.  For  I  hardly  consider  that  it 
counts  when  Mrs.  Haxtoun  looks  in  at  half -past 
two." 

' '  No  fairer  visitors  ?  "  asked  Rodney,  who  had  put 
his  elbows  on  the  table,  and  was  supporting  his  chia 
with  his  two  hands,  and  looking  squarely  into  the 
other's  eyes. 

"None." 

"  Come,  come,  man  !  " 

"  Really,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  Did  not  Miss  Haxtoun  interrupt  your  work  the 
other  night  ?  " 

Medhurst  did  not  change  a  muscle  of  his  face. 

"  No,"  said  he. 

"  Who  went  to  tell  you  old  Haxtoun  wanted  you 
to  come  in  ?  " 

"  A  servant." 

"  You  came  in  with  Miss  Haxtoun." 

"Quite  accidentally." 

"You  are  discreet,"  said  Rodney,  with  a  light 
laugh.  "You  are  admirably  discreet.  I  drink  to 
your  very  good  health,  Medhurst,  and  your  con- 
tinued discretion." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  have  done  to  deserve  your 
good  opinion." 

' '  You  know  how  to  hold  your  own  when  a  woman 


92  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

is  concerned.  But,  at  least,  confess  that  Miss 
Haxtoun  is  charming." 

"Miss  Haxtoun?  She  is  certainly  beautiful, — 
exquisitely  fresh." 

"  And  very  charming  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  — I  should  imagine  she  might  be  very 
charming." 

"Ah,  wise  fellow!  But,  from  your  allusions,  I 
have  already  gained  the  truth  that  six  years  ago  you 
were  charmed  too  much." 

"  As  you  say,  —  six  years  ago  I  was  charmed  too 
much.  I  rounded  off  that  experience  for  life,  and 
have  never  been  charmed  since." 

"Forbidden  fruit,  eh?" 

"Hands  off!  Touch  not,  taste  not,  handle  not, 
—  those  are  the  signs  which  lie  along  my  way.  I 
happened  to  hear  you  say  to  Mrs.  Haxtoun  the 
night  I  came  that  your  prohibition  was,  '  Not  too 
much.'  One  does  not  need  to  explain  the  difference." 

"  I  suspect  I  am  the  more  rational  being  of  the 
two.  You  have  a  chance  to  use  your  imagination. 
There  are  spirited  capabilities  about  your  face 
which  indicate  what  you  are.  I  would  give  some- 
thing for  your  dreams." 

"  My  dreams  !  You  don't  know  me,  Mr.  Heriot," 
exclaimed  Medhurst,  impatiently.  "  Strong  emo- 
tions have  made  small  part  of  my  life.  You  have 
lived  for  agitations,  excitements,  pleasures.  You 
have  been  able  to  afford  time  and  strength  to  go 
and  seek  them  when  they  did  not  come  of  their  own 
accord.  As  for  me,  I  am  a  disappointed  and  a 
bitter  man.  I  don't  mind  my  poverty.  What  I  do 
mind  is,  that  I  am  twenty-eight  years  old  and  that  I 


"NOTHING,   IF  NOT  CRITICAL."          93 

have  no  career.  My  dreams  are  of  my  failures,  my 
humiliations,  my  disgust  at  my  forced  labor  for 
what  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  actual  life.  As  for 
women,  —  I  fancy  your  allusion  was  to  them,  —  all 
the  caresses  of  Titania  would  win  from  me  only  a 
petition,  like  Bottom's,  for  'a  bottle  of  hay'  or  'a 
handful  of  dried  peas.' " 

Rodney  listened  with  a  half-joyous,  half-mock- 
ing smile,  and  his  large  blue  eyes  fixed  on  Med- 
hurst's  face.  He  had  begun  by  a  suspicion  that 
there  might  be  some  intimate  acquaintance  ripening 
between  the  young  fellow  and  Cecil,  and  he  now 
accepted  as  a  certain  fact  the  fantastic  fancy  that 
Medhurst  was  wildly  in  love  with  the  young  girl. 
A  certain  sombre  heroism  in  his  face  as  he  alluded 
to  himself,  a  harsh  obstinacy  in  repelling  the  sug- 
gestion that  he  might  be  charmed,  were  certain  signs 
to  Rodney  that  there  were  strife  and  conflict  in  his 
heart  over  present  troubles  and  vexations.  The 
waiters  were  lighting  the  Chinese  lanterns  and  the 
musicians  had  taken  their  places  on  the  little 
platform,  and  were  tuning  their  instruments.  The 
evening  grew  more  and  more  beautiful  every 
moment.  The  after-glow  still  lighted  the  sky  and 
the  river,  and  its  lustrous  yellow  had  the  perfect 
color  of  the  full-blown  primrose,  while  the  loom- 
ing hills  seemed  to  be  wrapped  in  violet. 

"Do  you  like  Mozart,  or  Beethoven,  best?"  in- 
quired Rodney,  as  if  they  had  been  talking  about 
music. 

"  Beethoven  ;  and  next  to  him,  Schubert.  Mozart 
I  care  little  or  nothing  for." 

"  That  is  because  you  make  such  a  serious  thing 


94  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

of  life.  Ther.e  is  something  very  happy  and  joyous 
about  Mozart,  a  dreamy  blissfulness,  a  tender,  brood- 
ing fancy.  First,  he  gives  us  the  hope  of  his  happi- 
ness ;  a  quiver  of  expectation  runs  all  through  the 
strains ;  he  tastes  all  the  sweetness  of  his  coming 
experience,  and  his  heart  aches  with  the  weight  of 
the  exquisite  distress  he  longs  for,  yet  dreads. 
Then  his  happiness  comes, — full  joy,  voluptuous, 
supreme  emotion,  just  like  his  dreams  ;  no  silence 
about  it,  no  reserve ;  all  told  out  with  the  abandon 
of  absolute  pleasure.  And  finally,  when  it  de- 
parts —  but  no,  it  never  departs ;  he  holds  it,  still 
musing  on  it,  in  memory  recalling  it  with  all  its 
tenderness,  its  transports,  its  imperious,  seductive 
charms.  One  has  heard  the  story  over  and  over  till 
one's  ear  grows  ravished  with  it,  but  one  can  never 
hear  it  too  often." 

"You  make  me  out  a  dull  fellow;  but  Mozart's 
strains,  repeating  each  other  like  echoes,  —  inter- 
twining, caressing,  following  each  other, — no  matter 
how  sweet  they  are,  give  me  a  feeling  of  satiety." 

"  What  better  is  there  than  sweet  satiety?  But  I 
should  suspect  you  were  a  man  to  be  mad  after 
Beethoven.  No  sweet,  soft  happiness  in  Beethoven  ; 
no  single  unmixed  emotion.  You  go  on  from  one 
climax  to  another,  out  of  joy  to  pain,  out  of  heaven 
to  hell ;  then  out  of  hell  opens  heaven  again,  —  a 
new  heaven  born  out  of  the  chaos  of  despair." 

"  You  have  thought  a  great  deal  about  music?  " 

"  I  never  thought  about  anything  in  my  life  ;  but 
for  two  years  I  studied  music,  and  lived  in  a  musical 
circle  in  Paris." 

"  Do  you  play  on  any  instrument?" 


"NOTHING,   IF  NOT  CRITICAL."  95 

"On  the  piano,  a  little,  but  badly.  On  the 
violin  a  little  more,  but  so  unsatisfactorily  that  of 
late  I  hardly  touch  the  bow.  I  had  a  frenzy  at  one 
time  to  get  hold  o'f  the  thoughts  of  the  masters ; 
but  I  grew  discouraged.  The  immortals  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  me." 

He  spoke  with  his  usual  light  superficiality. 
Medhurst  stared  at  him,  frankly  puzzled. 

"  It  needs  time,  I  suppose,  to  perfect  one's  self," 
he  remarked,  uttering  a  commonplace  to  stifle  the 
exclamation  of  surprise  he  was  ready  to  make. 

"No  artistic  pursuit  can  be  an  arbitrary  thing. 
Your  impulses  must  run  current  with  it ;  they  must 
not  only  be  a  complete  yielding  up  of  time,  strength, 
and  careful  labor,  but  of  the  thought  and  intellect 
as  well,  if  art  is  to  reward  you  by  moulding  your 
powers  and  giving  them  shape  and  meaning.  I  can 
do  anything  for  a  few  months ;  then  all  at  once 
everything  I  have  looked  forward  to  and  believed  in 
seems  crumbling  to  pieces.  I  seem  to  have  lost  my 
foothold,  and  have  to  look  round  for  another." 

' '  A  man  has  to  struggle  on  past  that.  If  he 
stops  short  he  does  it  at  the  risk  of  losing  the  im- 
petus, which  he  cannot  get  up  again.  In  fact,  he 
sacrifices  not  only  what  he  is  going  to  do,  but  what 
he  has  done." 

"  Oh  !  I  dare  say  I  got  out  of  music  all  I  could. 
I  used  to  attend  the  concerts  at  the  Conservatoire, 
and  I  had  some  fine  moments.  What  finally  cured 
me  of  my  infatuation  was  an  experience  at  a  pri- 
vate concert.  I  was  to  play  Schubert's  Sonata  in 
A  minor  witli  a  Hungarian  pianist.  I  was  par- 
ticularly fond  of  my  violin  in  those  days.  I  used  to 


96  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

lean  my  chest  down  upon  it  with  much  the  same 
feeling  as  if  it  had  been  the  ivory  skin  of  a  beautiful 
woman.  Well,  this  evening  I  was  just  about  to 
flourish  my  bow,  when  I  looked  up  and  saw,  about  ten 
feet  in  front  of  me,  a  pretty  Parisienne,  who  regarded 
me  closely,  and  struck,  probably,  by  my  sentimental 
air,  smiled  with  internal  amusement.  I  felt  that  I 
was  making  myself  absurd,  and  I  have  an  antipathy 
for  the  absurd.  I  declined  to  play." 

"  Then  your  love  of  music  was,  in  fact,  a  ca- 
price ?  " 

"  You  see  through  me  at  once.  There  is  a  moral 
meaning  in  all  these  failures  of  mine.  Everything 
is  a  caprice  with  me.  When  the  elan  is  gone,  the 
pleasure  is  gone." 

Medhurst  was  struck  by  these  confessions, 
which,  nevertheless,  he  did  not  take  very  seriously. 
Rodney's  manner,  easy,  sportive,  and  impassioned 
at  times,  alternated  with  the  freedom  and  spirit  of 
one  who  is  playing  a  clever  part,  and  wants  to 
succeed. 

"  I  have  wondered,"  Rodney  pursued,  "  how  it 
would  be  if  I  were  to  fall  in  love." 

"  Naturally  my  mind  reverted  to  the  same  sub- 
ject. I  will  hazard  a  conjecture :  you  have  never 
been  in  love." 

"  What  makes  you  think  that?" 

"  That  is  no  reason  why  plenty  of  women  should 
not  have  been  in  love  with  you.  I  fancy  you  have 
studied  the  subject." 

"  Are  women  ever  in  love?  " 

"They  say  so.  But  then  man  is  the  emotional 
animal." 


"NOTHING,   IF  NOT  CRITICAL."          97 

"  You  have  been  in  love?  " 

"  I  seem  to  have  made  some  such  confession  to- 
night, I  hardly  know  why.  I  assure  you  my  experi- 
ence of  the  subject  is  necessarily  limited,  and  what 
knowledge  I  possess  is  a  mere  gauge  of  the  torments 
and  the  pains." 

' '  Why  did  you  think  I  had  not  been  in  love  ?  " 

' '  You  seem  to  me  to  have  gained  no  permanent 
impressions  from  life,  —  as  if  you  had  desired  nothing 
absolutely.  You  would  have  become  surer  of  your- 
self if  you  had  had  a  simple  intense  emotion,  and 
either  felt  more  constancy  to  your  ideals,  or  more 
abhorrence  of  them." 

"  I  should,  in  fact,  have  preferred  Beethoven  to 
Mozart." 

"  I  fancy  you  do.  But  you  would  have  had  less 
antipathy  to  the  absurd." 

"  I  see  the  force  of  that.  In  order  to  be  a  good 
lover  a  man  must  not  hesitate  to  make  himself 
ridiculous." 

"  He  must  have  a  fixed  idea.  Love  is  a  burning- 
glass,  and  concentrates  every  ray  of  feeling." 

"  Ah,  but  a  fixed  idea  is  so  difficult,  and  concern-- 
ing  a  woman,  of  all  creatures  !  No  two  ideas  about 
her  succeed  each  other  in  logical  order.  You  cannot 
say  to  yourself,  she  is  a  light- winged,  frivolous  creat- 
ure, therefore  I  must  cull  the  flower  of  things,  and 
offer  only  the  honey  to  her.  On  the  contrary,  at  a 
suggestion  of  this  she  at  once  seeks  to  prove  to  you 
that  she  is  nothing  if  not  profound ;  that  nothing 
contents  her  save  researches  into  the  hidden  mys- 
teries. Then,  too,  you  respect  her  innocence  and 
modesty,  and  avoid  the  least  intimation  that  you  are 


98  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

a  masculine  being,  or  live  in  a  world  of  reality,  and 
she  will  make  allusions  with  the  utmost  scorn  to 
what  almost  makes  your  hair  stand  on  end.  You 
fancy  she  values  nothing  but  love.  Nothing  of  the 
sort.  She  knows  not  what  love  is ;  she  wants  to 
dazzle  and  astonish  you ;  she  is  utterly  reckless  in 
the  way  she  runs  after  certain  effects.  But  don't 
be  encouraged  beyond  bounds ;  these  surprising 
performances  are  not  stimulated  by  any  conscious- 
ness of  you  as  an  individual  man,  but  are  the  work 
of  a  youthful  spirit,  which  excitedly  seeks  to  project 
itself  into  situations  it  has  read  or  dreamed  about, 
and  which,  guided  by  its  untrained  instincts,  always 
produces  too  much  and  leaps  too  far." 

Rodney  seemed  interested  in  his  own  words.  He 
had  been  smoking  a  cigarette,  which  had  gone  out, 
and  now  went  through  the  motions  of  relighting  it, 
but  was  unconscious  that  he  did  not  succeed, 
and  proceeded  to  put  it  to  his  lips  in  his  pauses, 
withdrawing  it  when  he  spoke. 

"  Young  girls  surprise  me,"  he  now  remarked. 
"  I  confess,  if  I  wanted  to  please  one,  I  should  not 
know  how  to  go  to  work." 

Medhurst  laughed. 

"  Give  me  some  advice,"  said  Rodney,  gayly.  "  I 
need  it." 

"  I  hardly  think  that." 

"  I  swear  I  do." 

"  I  don't  mind  giving  advice,"  said  Medhurst. 
"  In  a  case  like  this  it  is  a  matter  of  scientific  pre- 
diction. Take  the  young  girl  by  the  hand,  and  show 
her  your  mother's  house.  You  have  neither  brother 
nor  sister,  I  believe." 


"NOTHING,  IF  NOT  CRITICAL."          99 

"  Not  one." 

"Tell  her  so.  Say,  'I  am  the  only  son  of  my 
mother,  and  "she  is  a  rich  widow.' ' 

"  You  think  young  girls  care  for  these  material, 
sordid  considerations  ?  " 

"  I  know  they  do." 

"  I  confess,"  said  Rodney,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  that  I  am  more  romantic  than  you  think. 
I  should  like  to  be  ardently  loved." 

"  That  matter  is  between  your  soul  and  hers." 

"You  can't  give  me  any  recipe,  —  any  love- 
philter." 

"  I  gave  you  the  result  of  my  experience." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"It  is  time  I  was  on  my  way  back,"  Medhurst 
now  remarked.  "  Brilliant  irregularities  and  eccen- 
tric hours  do  not  coincide  with  my  present  duties." 

"  Get  into  my  boat  and  tow  yours." 

"  No,  get  into  mine,  and  I  will  row  you  home." 

This  arrangement  was  carried  out.  Rodney  sat 
in  the  stern,  with  the  rope  of  his  boat  tied  to  the 
gunwale.  Medhurst  plied  his  oars,  and  his  com- 
panion talked.  All  meagre  civilities,  all  limiting 
worldly  ideas  and  conventional  tones,  seemed  to 
have  vanished  in  the  intercourse  of  the  two.  Only 
what  was  natural  showed  itself  in  Rodney.  Some 
sensibility ;  some  taste  for  the  beautiful,  a  little  of 
the  brutal ;  a  mixture  of  poetry  and  folly,  besides 
sensuality,  made  themselves  evident  in  the  recollec- 
tions of  nights  abroad,  which  he  poured  forth.  A 
scene  in  Germany,  a  song  of  Italy,  an  adventure  in 
Paris,  —  he  gave  everything,  omitting  nothing.  It 
was  to  Medhurst,  after  these  weeks  of  silence,  as  if 


100  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

some  stream,  dammed  to  its  brim,  had  suddenly  burst 
forth.  There  were  the  waters  from  a  mountain 
spring,  mixed  with  fresh-flowering  branches,  —  a 
mouldering  bough  or  two,  and  some  ooze  and 
slime. 


A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE,  101 


CHAPTER    Vin. 

A    NIGHT     IN    JUNE. 

HIS  evening  with  Rodney  Heriot  made  a  strong 
impression  on  Medhurst's  mind,  and  was  pon- 
dered over  for  days  afterwards  from  many  points  of 
view.  Rodney  was  naturally  interesting  to  him,  from 
having  lived  in  a  totally  different  range  of  expe- 
riences and  ideas.  He  had  had  everything  he  had 
asked  for,  and  enjoyed  a  chance  to  be  happy  as 
the  gods,  with  roguish  pranks,  faults,  follies,  and 
vices,  which  he  had  had  no  need  to  conceal  or 
calculate  the  results  of.  Medhurst  had  frequently 
thought  of  a  career  like  this  ;  but  had  never  before 
happened  to  meet  a  man  with  the  wit  to  have  made 
the  most  of  it.  The  impression  of  Rodney 
Heriot's  words  and  laughter,  his  quips,  jests, 
and  intimate  confessions,  remained  in  Medhurst's 
mind,  played  over  by  interwoven  and  crossing 
lights,  giving  them  different  colors  and  shapes. 
He  felt  that  he  could  not  similarly  have  impressed 
Rodney  Heriot.  He  was  in  no  respect  the  equal  of 
a  man  of  the  world,  thirty-six  years  old,  who  had 
had  a  hat  full  of  money  with  which  to  carry  out 
every  whim  and  caprice.  And,  unless  one  is  either 
a  saint  or  a  man  of  the  world,  one  cannot  talk  to 
a  man  of  the  world  without  seeming  a  pedant  or  a 


102  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

fool.  But,  though  he  was  ready  to  call  himself 
names,  the  fact  remained  that  Rodney  had  thought 
him  worth  talking  to.  He  had,  besides,  suspected 
him  of  some  particular  interest  in  Miss  Haxtoun, 
and  this,  probably,  accounted  for  all.  If  any  one 
else  had  believed  him  capable  of  any  presumptuous 
ideas  concerning  the  young  girl,  Medhurst  would 
have  regarded  it  much  like  an  accusation  of  picking 
his  employer's  pocket.  But  it  is  natural  for  a  lover 
to  be  jealous,  and  particularly  of  any  one  under  the 
same  roof  as  his  beloved.  Heriot  little  knew  the 
scant  opportunities  he  had  of  enjoying  the  young 
girl's  society,  Medhurst  said  to  himself :  he  had 
hardly  the  crumbs  which  fell  from  the  rich  man's 
table.  He  had  shuffled  and  equivocated  a  little  about 
his  interview  with  Cecil  in  the  book-room,  concern- 
ing which  Rodney  had  pressed  inquiries,  when  it 
might,  perhaps,  have  been  as  well  to  tell  the  whole 
story.  But  he  disliked  to  part  with  it.  Of  course  it 
was  a  mere  jumble  of  coincidences  ;  but  the  memory 
of  it  had  a  charm  of  its  own.  The  young  girl, 
standing  there  in  the  dim  light,  in  her  white  gown, 
against  the  dark  background,  —  a  little  timid  and 
hesitating,  yet  full  of  sweetness  and  bonte,  telling 
him  that  she  thought  of  him;  that,  instead  of  his 
being  in  her  eyes,  as  he  had  supposed,  a  mere  writ- 
ing-machine, wound  up  by  meat  and  drink,  he  was 
an  actual  entity,  thought  of,  listened  to,  and  kindly 
regarded !  It  was  rather  a  pretty  experience,  the 
real  charm  of  it  being  the  surprise,  the  sudden 
novelty.  It  had  made  him  build  no  castles  in  the 
air.  It  was  probable  that  she  had,  as  Rodney 
Heriot  had  described,  tried  to  dazzle  and  astonish 


A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE.  103 

him  ;  she  had,  nevertheless,  been  terribly  frightened, 
and  checked  h'erself  at  his  slight  reproof.  He  did 
not  think  that  Rodney  Heriot  had  ever  seen  her  at 
such  an  advantage.  It  was  evident  that  there  was 
within  her  the  tremulous  sensitiveness  of  a  bird, 
with  a  bird's  delicacy  and  vivacity.  Medhurst 
wondered  a  little  how  happy  Cecil  was  likely  to  be 
as  Heriot's  wife  ;  he  was  inclined  to  believe  that  no 
woman  took  more  than  a  materialistic  view  of 
marriage,  and  wealth  would  probably  satisfy  her. 
Yet  Cecil  was  a  young  girl ;  and  a  young  girl 
demands  incense,  homage,  intense  sensation,  and 
a  whirlwind  of  occupations ;  whereas,  at  Rodney 
Heriot's  age,  and  with  his  antecedents,  the  freshness 
had  flatly  gone  out  of  most  experiences  and  antici- 
pations. Yet  Rodney  expected  her  to  fall  in  love 
with  him. 

One  evening,  just  at  the  end  of  June,  Medhurst, 
on  issuing  from  his  study,  came  upon  Cecil,  standing 
in  the  porch,  with  a  look  of  unmistakable  timidity 
and  indecision  on  her  pretty  face.  She  moved 
aside  to  let  him  pass,  merely  giving  a  haughty 
little  word  in  answer  to  his  low  bow ;  but  he  saw 
that  she  blushed  vividly,  and  his  own  face  tingled 
as  he  went  down  the  terraces.  He  hated  this  form 
of  meaningless  embarrassment,  and  experienced  that 
sense  of  his  own  youthfulness  and  greenness  which 
afflicts  any  one  when  he  longs  for  the  vantage-ground 
of  a  man  of  the  world,  but  is  compelled  to  repeat 
the  crudities  of  early  youth.  He  went  into  the 
boat-house,  let  down  his  boat,  and  threw  the  oars 
into  it,  and  was  about  to  jump  in  himself,  when  he 
heard  a  voice  outside,  calling,  "  Mr.  Medhurst  I  " 


104  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

He  turned.     It  was  Cecil. 

"  Are  you  going  on  the  river?"  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  what  a  lovely  time  to  go !  " 

"Yes."  He  looked  at  her,  it  was  evident  that 
she  waited  for  an  invitation  from  him ;  but  'he 
uttered  no  word. 

"May  I  go  with  you  ?"  she  asked,  with  the  audacity 
of  a  child  spurred  on  by  fright  and  nervousness. 

"  I  should  be  most  happy  to  row  you,"  Medhurst 
replied,  with  deliberation.  "Would  Mrs.  Haxtoun 
like  it?" 

"  Why  should  she  not  like  it?  She  never  told 
me  I  was  not  to  go  rowing  with  you,"  Cecil  replied, 
with  a  sort  of  indignation. 

Medhurst  knew  very  well  that  Mrs.  Haxtoun  was 
spending  the  day  and  night  at  her  sister's,  —  fifty 
miles  away. 

"  Mr.  Haxtoun  is  in  the  summer-house ;  ask 
him,"  said  he,  with  decision. 

Cecil  flew  up  the  walk,  and  Medhurst  went  on  in 
a  methodical  way  getting  the  boat  ready,  working 
with  a  sort  of  fury.  He  hated  himself,  and  his 
bonds  and  his  limitations.  He  thought  how  Rodney 
Heriot  would  have  replied  if  the  young  girl  had 
begged  to  go  with  him,  her  eyes  raised  timidly,  her 
whole  face  showing  that  bewitching  softness.  A 
man  like  that  need  not  have  given  gruff,  grim 
answers.  There  was  something  of  the  young  Loch- 
invar  about  Medhurst,  or  so  he  believed,  and  he  in 
no  wise  enjoyed  assuming  the  airs  of  a  dull  peda- 
gogue where  a  woman  was  concerned.  "If  she 
comes,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  must  put  a  cushion 


A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE.  105 

in  the  stern,  and  a  rug  on  the  floor."  He  waited, 
however,  to  see  the  necessity  for  this  preparation 
before  he  made  it.  It  was  only  for  the  flower  of 
chivalry  to  be  reckless  in  costly  offerings  to  reign- 
ing queens.  He  took  his  boat  around  to  the  pier 
steps,  and  then  he  waited,  looking  across  the  river 
at  a  passing  boat. 

"  Here  I  am,"  cried  Cecil. 

"Can  you  go?"  he  said,  turning  slowly  to  look 
at  her,  although  he  had  heard  her  footsteps. 

"Papa  had  no  objection.  He  said  I  must  bring 
a  wrap,  and  there  it  is."  She  flung  it  down. 

' '  Will  you  not  hurt  that  pretty  gown  ?  " 

"Oh,  no  matter!  I  always  soil  my  gowns.  Do 
let  me  have  a  good  time  for  once."  Her  tone  was 
half -pettish,  half -imploring. 

He  betrayed  neither  elation  nor  haste,  but  went 
soberly  about  the  task  of  making  the  skiff  comfort- 
able for  her.  She  stood  on  the  top  step,  holding  the 
train  of  her  dress  in  her  hand,  which,  thus  raised, 
disclosed  a  circle  of  frills  and  laces,  from  which 
"issued  two  pretty  feet  in  black  silk  stockings,  and 
high-heeled  slippers  with  huge  buckles.  That  any- 
thing so  fine,  so  dainty,  should  be  injured  by  con- 
tact with  aught  unclean  seemed  to  him  unspeakable 
desecration.  Still,  all  the  time  he  was  saying  to 
himself  that  these  exquisite,  aristocratic  creatures, 
with  their  dainty  ways,  were  to  be  avoided  as  com- 
panions. 

"  Don't  take  so  much  trouble,"  cried  Cecil,  with 
an  air  of  concern ;  "I  should  like  to  get  wet." 

"  The  boat  is  dry  enough,"  said  Medhurst.  He 
held  out  his  hand,  and  hers  slipped  into  it. 


106  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Shall  I  step  on  the  edge?  "  she  asked,  hesitating 
a  little. 

"  No ;  spring  directly  into  the  centre  of  the  boat." 

She  obeyed  him. 

"  "Was  that  right?  "  she  asked. 

He  bit  his  lip.  He  mistrusted  her  air  of  submis- 
sion. He  would  have  preferred  her  to  show  caprice, 
carelessness,  or  disdain. 

He  guided  her  to  her  seat,  arranged  the  rudder- 
rope,  and  gave  her  precise  orders.  He  took  off  his 
coat  in  a  leisurely  way,  folded  it  up,  and  sat  down  on 
it ;  but  the  moment  he  took  the  oars  he  began  to  row 
with  something  like  frenzy.  He  did  not  once  let 
his  eyes  rest  on  the  figure  in  the  stern,  but  constantly 
turned,  and  looked  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Why  do  you  keep  watch?"  she  asked. 

"There  are  steamboats,  and  all  sorts  of  river- 
craft." 

' '  I  will  tell  you  if  we  are  in  danger  of  running 
into  anything." 

"  I  prefer  to  look  out  for  danger,  if  you  please." 

"  Does  it  bore  you,  having  me  here? " 

"Bore  me?    No." 

"  For  a  week,"  said  Cecil,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  have 
thought  every  day,  '  If  only  I  could  go  rowing  with 
Mr.  Medhurst!'" 

"  Are  you  so  fond  of  being  on  the  water? " 

"  Not  always.     I  wanted  to  come  with  you." 

She  spoke  with  the  solemnity  of  a  child,  and  sat 
with  a  candid,  serious  look  on  her  young  face.  She 
seemed  to  be  listening  to  the  tinkling  of  the  water 
against  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  to  the  measured 
beat  of  the  oars. 


A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE.  107 

"  Don't  you  ever  get  tired  of  rowing?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  am  generally  glad  to  drift  back.  I  often  lie 
flat  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat." 

"  Looking  up  at  the  sky?" 

"  Very  likely ;  or  shutting  my  eyes  and  looking 
nowhere." 

"  I  should  like  to  do  that." 

"  Lie  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat? " 

' '  I  should  like  a  chance  to  do  things  in  an  easy, 
careless  way.  I  should  like  to  have  plenty  of  time 
to  think,  and  one  could  think  a  great  deal  out  on  the 
river  all  alone." 

"  I  wonder  what  you  would  think  about,"  said 
Medhurst. 

"Oh,  so  many  things!  There  are  a  great  many 
things  I  don't  understand,"  answered  Cecil,  turning 
a  large,  troubled  gaze  upon  Medhurst,  and  speaking 
with  the  utmost  emphasis. 

' '  It  does  sometimes  seem  a  little  difficult  to  get 
at  the  actual  core  of  meaning ;  but  then,  thinking 
is  so  hard." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  exclaimed  Cecil,  wonder- 
ingly.  "  It  seems  to  me  so  easy." 

"  Do  you  think  about  people,  about  life,  or  about 
fairyland  ?  " 

"  About  them  all.  But  perhaps  you  would  say  I 
do  not  think  about  real  life,  —  mamma  says  so.  It 
seems  to  me  easier  and  pleasanter  to  imagine  people 
as  I  like  them  and  need  them.  I  want  them  nobler, 
more  beautiful,  more  interesting,  than  they  are  in 
e very-day  life.  Why  should  not  my  lovely  dreams 
come  to  pass  ?  "  she  cried  out,  with  a  sudden  burst  of 
feeling.  ' '  They  have  happened  ;  they  can  happen 


108  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

again.     Why  should  I  miss  all  that  is  sweetest  in 
life?" 

Medhurst,  not  knowing  what  to  answer,  kept 
silence.  He  heard  a  certain  passionate  emotion  in 
the  words,  but  the  words  themselves  were  incompre- 
hensible to  him.  What  had  a  girl  like  her,  brought 
up  at  her  mother's  side,  a  chance  to  dream  of,  com- 
prehend, and  despair  at  the  thought  of  having  lost  ? 

"  I  suppose  you  think  I  am  talking  nonsense," 
she  now  remarked,  looking  at  him,  and  half -pouting, 
half-smiling. 

"  I  am  willing  to  wager  all  I  do  not  possess  that 
the  prettiest  and  wildest  dreams  of  your  heart  will 
come  to  pass." 

She  looked  at  him  side  wise,  then  turned  her 
glance,  upwards.  She  was  blushing  slightly.  Med- 
hurst had  not  once  slackened  speed  since  they  set  out, 
and  they  were  by  this  time  far  up  the  river.  He  now 
rested  a  little,  only  dipping  his  oars  occasionally, 
and,  no  longer  engrossed  with  his  strenuous  occupa- 
tion, became  conscious  of  his  position,  far  away  from 
the  eyes  and  ears  of  other  human  beings,  alone  with 
this  young  girl  in  the  last  and  loneliest  hour  of  the  day. 

"  How  quiet  it  is  !  "  she  exclaimed,  after  a  little 
time.  "  But  yet  it  is  not  lonely." 

"No, —not  lonely." 

"  The  river  is  so  much  company  ;  it  has  so  much 
activity  of  its  own,  so  many  voices,  so  many  mur- 
murs, one  may  hear  just  what  one  listens  for  in  its 
soft  sounds." 

She  seemed  to  be  listening,  and  he  wondered  to.what. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  on  the  Rhine?"  she  asked, 
suddenly. 


A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE.  109 

"Yes,  many  times." 

"  What  strange,  beautiful  stories  they  have  mingled 
with  the  every-day  look  of  things  there  !  Last  winter 
papa  used  to  make  me  translate  and  write  out  those 
legends  for  him,  and  they  quite  took  possession  of 
my  mind  for  a  time.  Now,  suppose  a  nixie  sat  on 
that  rock  across  the  river,  combing  her  golden  hair 
and  singing  a  song  to  you." 

"  At  present,  at  least,  I  should  be  quite  indifferent 
to  her  song  and  to  her  golden  hair." 

"  Don't  you  like  German  stories?" 

"  I  get  a  good  deal  of  them,  you  know.  German 
literature  is  a  great  treasure-house  of  romantic  ideas, 
and  one  gains  a  pell-mell  of  fantastic  images,  but 
few  pleasing  pictures,  or  complete  and  serene  crea- 
tions. The  Greeks  are  so  much  truer  to  art  and 
nature ;  their  art  is  nature,  and  nature  is  always 
simple,  no  matter  how  beautiful  or  how  infinitely 
various.  Whether  my  intellect  is  too  sceptical,  or 
my  imagination  too  sluggish,  I  am  not  sure ;  but 
those  Gothic  monsters,  virgins,  nixies,  knights, 
minnesingers,  and  all  those  colossal  but  shadowy 
forms,  are  unsubstantial  to  me." 

"  But  those  stories  symbolize  the  same  meanings 
that  the  Greek  stories  did, — you  believe  that,"  cried 
Cecil,  startled. 

"  That  is  what  we  are  writing  about,"  said  Med- 
hurst,  "  and  we  are  getting  on  very  well.  We  have 
almost  two  hundred  pages  of  foolscap  already  fin- 
ished on  the  subject.  Having  already  done  so  much, 
it  would  be  strange,  indeed,  if  I  did  not  believe  in 
the  identity  of  the  Aryan  epics." 


HO  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Medhurst  felt  impatient,  and  had  taken  up  his  oars 
again.  The  sun  was  just  setting,  and  above  them, 
in  the  exquisite  azure,  floated  a  few  rose-colored 
clouds,  which  were  reflected  in  the  water. 

"  Look,  how  beautiful !  "  said  Cecil. 

"Yes." 

"I  am  enjoying  "this  so  much,"  she  went  on. 
' '  Does  it  not  make  you  feel  happy  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Don't  you  feel  the  charm  and  the  sweetness  of 
it  ?  It  is  so  hard  to  define  a  feeling ;  but  one  is 
usually  so  bounded,  so  pent-up,  that  to  be  out 
under  the  skies,  with  nothing  but  nature,  wide- 
spreading,  beneficent,  —  it  is  as  if  —  as  if  —  if  only 
one's  arms  were  long  enough  one  might  clasp  the 
whole  world.  Don't  laugh  at  me,"  she  added, 
suddenly,  growing  scarlet,  conscious  of  the  gleam  in 
his  eyes. 

"  I  am  not  laughing  at  you,  Miss  Haxtoun." 

He  wondered  about  her  more  and  more.  This 
opportunity  to  see  her  freely  had  stimulated  his 
curiosity  instead  of  satisfying  it.  It  might  be  that 
these  delightful  caprices  had  their  root  in  a  desire 
for  admiration.  Rodney  Heriot  would  say  as  much. 
But  what  did  it  matter  ?  He  was  not  compelled  to 
solve  the  enigma.  She  seemed  to  him  a  complex 
creature ;  full  of  fancy,  full  of  paradox ;  shy,  be- 
witching, tender,  and  audacious ;  changeable  as  the 
wind ;  frank,  yet  mysteriously  reserved ;  candid,  and 
rather  vain  ;  and,  besides,  so  radiantly  beautiful  that 
her  mere  look  tinged  all  she  said  with  a  hundred 
varied  lights  of  sentiment. 

She  felt  excessively  embarrassed,  and  in  any  ex- 


A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE.  HI 

cited  mood  it  was  her  way  to  slip  a  ring  she  wore  — 
a  large  sapphire,  set  in  brilliants  —  up  and  down 
her  finger.  This  little  nervous  motion  did  not  con- 
tent her,  and,  taking  it  off,  she  held  it  over  the  gun- 
wale and  dipped  it  in  the  running  water. 

"Take  care,"  said  Medhurst;  "you  know  the 
story." 

"What  story?" 

He  began  to  repeat :  — 

"  Wohl  sitzt  am  Meeresstrande 
Ein  zartes  Jungfraulein ; 
Sie  angelt  manche  Stunde, 
Kein  Fischlein  beisst  ihr  ein. 

"  Sie  hat  'nen  Ring  am  Finger 
Mit  rothem  Edelstein ; 
Den  bind't  sie  an  die  Angel, 
Wirft  ihn  ins  Meer  hinein. 

"  Da  hebt  sich  aus  der  Tiefe 
'Ne  Hand  wie  Elfenbein, 
Die  lasst  am  Finger  blinken 
Das  goldne  Ringelein." 

Cecil  drew  back  her  hand  sharply,  startled,  re- 
placed the  ring  on  her  finger,  and  held  it  there  as  if 
afraid. 

"  Tell  me  the  rest,"  she  said,  when  he  stopped. 

"  Don't  you  know  Uhland's  ballad?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  then,  here  is  the  rest  of  it :  — 

"  Da  hebt  sich  aus  dem  Grunde 
Ein  Ritter,  Jung  und  fein ; 
Er  prangt  in  goldnen  Schuppen, 
Und  spielt  im  Sonnensohein. 


112  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Das  Magdlein  spricht  erschrocken, 
'  Nein,  edler  Ritter,  nein ! 
Lass  du  mein  Ringlein  golden ! 
Gar  nicht  begehrt'  fch  dein.' 

"  '  Man  angelt  nicht  nacli  Fischen 
Mit  Gold  und  Edelstein  ; 
Das  Ringlein  lass  ich  nimmer ; 
Mein  eigen  musst  du  sein.' " 

She  seemed  vividly  impressed  by  the  little  poem ; 
but  she  said  nothing,  only  looked  at  Medhurst  and 
waited. 

"I  did  not  mean -to  frighten  you,"  he  now  re- 
marked, rather  mischievously;  "  and,  after  all,  the 
Delaware  is  not  the  Rhine." 

"No,  luckily.  I  was  thinking  that  the  Rhine 
might  be  too  delightful,  too  dangerous.  Safety  is 
something.  When  you  are  rowing  at  night  you  may 
be  run  down  by  a  steam-tug ;  but  there  are  no  nixies 
or  loreleys  lying  in  wait  for  you.  And  I  might  fish 
in  the  river  all  day  with  Mein  Edelstein,  and  no 
knight,  with  an  ivory  hand,  would  rise'  out  of  the 
water  to  threaten  me." 

Her  tone  was  quite  different  from  what  it  had 
been  before. 

"  That  is  the  way  she  talks  to  Heriot,"  Medhurst 
said  to  himself.  The  moment  she  was  on  her  guard 
all  her  social  training  came  to  her  aid,  and  she  took 
the  air  of  a  clever  woman  of  the  world. 

"  Look  up  !  "  exclaimed  Medhurst.  The  sun  had 
been  beneath  the  horizon  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour ; 
but  the  clouds,  and  sky,  and  atmosphere  had  con- 
tinued to  grow  more  and  more  beautiful,  gaining  a 
singularly  brilliant  and  luminous  tone.  Just  above 


A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE.  113 

where  'the  sun  had  gone  down  were  wide,  golden 
spaces,  between  the  ripples  of  crimson  and  purple, 
and  one  great,  violet  cloud,  fringed  with  a  border  of 
flame,  seemed  to  throb  with  its  intensity  of  color. 
The  hue  the  distant  hills  took  on  was  indescribable, 
and  the  air  itself  seemed  to  be  a  medium  of  liquid 
light,  which  changed  everything  it  touched  into 
beauty. 

"It  is  rather  a  romantic  world,"  observed  Med- 
hurst.  "Whether  you  are  on  the  Rhine  or  on  the 
Delaware  you  have  the  same  heaven  over  your 
head ;  and  so  long  as  there  is  beauty  in  the  world 
there  must  be  poetry  and  longing  in  young  hearts, 
and  so  long  as  there  is  poetry  there  will  be  knights 
and  loreleys." 

She  was  still  looking  up  at  the  sky,  but  was  evi- 
dently thinking  out  her  own  thoughts,  which  engrossed 
her  more  than  the  slowly  fading  sunset  splendors. 

"I  fancy,"  she  remarked  presently,  ",that  you 
have  lived  through  a  great  deal." 

"  I ! "  exclaimed  Medhurst,  frankly  amazed,  almost 
annoyed. 

"  Yes,"  she  returned,  looking  at  him  with  a  little, 
decisive  nod.  "  I  should  not  be  surprised  to  hear 
of  anything  you  had  done." 

' '  On  my  soul "  — 

"Oh,  I  mean  great,  heroic  things,"  said  Cecil, 
with  enthusiasm. 

' ' '  Great,  heroic  things '  ?  "  he  echoed  sharply. 
' '  What  absolute  nonsense  !  What  I  have  done  have 
been  poor  things,  unworthy  things,  pitiful  things." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  she  returned,  so  pointedly 
it  seemed  brusque. 


114  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Medhurst  drew  out  his  watch. 

"Miss  Haxtoun,"  said  he,  "it  is  a  quarter  to 
eight.  I  suppose  you  are  ready  to  go  back." 

"  Oh,  dear,  I  should  like  to  go  on  forever." 

"  I  await  your  orders.  Shall  I  turn  or  shall  we  go 
on  forever?" 

"You  must  turn,  I  am  afraid.  Mr.  Heriot  is 
coming  this  evening,  with  a  lady  who  is  visiting  his 
mother." 

He  swung  the  boat  around.  "  We  shall  go  down 
rapidly,"  he  remarked.  "The  current  is  swift  and 
strong." 

"Don't  go  too  swiftly;  I  want  you  to  tell  me 
about  yourself." 

"If  you  want  an  interesting  autobiography  I 
advise  you  to  ask  Mr.  Heriot  for  his  ;  mine  is  a  tame 
and  shabby  affair,  —  nothing  but  obstructed  fortune, 
restrained  activities,  unfulfilled  ambitions." 

"  I  never  should  want  to  know  Mr.  Heriot's," 
said  Cecil,  with  spirit. 

"Nevertheless,  his  life  is  interesting  to  hear  about." 

"  But,  no  matter  what  he  has  done,"  cried  Cecil, 
impatiently,  ' '  I  want  to  know  what  you  call  ignoble 
and  pitiful  in  your  own  career." 

"  You  think  I  may  have  committed  crimes." 

"Oh,  no." 

"  You  have  heard  me  tell  Mrs.  Haxtoun  the  main 
facts." 

Cecil  looked  at  him  with  a  meditative  air.  "  Your 
mother  died  at  your  birth,"  said  she.  "You  lost 
your  father  when  you  were  nine  years  old.  You  were 
brought  up  by  your  uncle.  I  remember  that  it  re- 
minded me  of  the  '  Babes  in  the  Wood.'  " 


A  NIGHT  IN  JUNE.  H5 

"  My  uncle,  on  the  contrary,  was  very  good  to  me. 
Instead  of  coveting  my  six  thousand  dollars,  he  in- 
vested it  well,  and  allowed  it  almost  to  double  with- 
out being  touched,  bringing  me  up  like  his  own 
child.  He  died  when  I  was  seventeen,  and  I  was 
left  to  my  own  resources.  I  went  to  Harvard,  and 
afterwards,  for  eighteen  months,  to  Heidelberg.  By 
the  time  I  was  twenty-one  I  had  a  fair  classical  edu- 
cation, and  most  of  my  money  was  spent.  That 
seemed  unimportant,  however,  for  I  expected  to  make 
my  fortune  at  once." 

"How?" 

"You  have  a  practical  mind.  Now,  my  fault 
was  my  indefmiteness.  I  was  crammed  to  the  roof 
with  literature,  and  was  hazy-minded  about  the  worth 
of  other  things.  But  I  decided  to  study  law,  and 
had  two  thousand  dollars  left  to  tide  me  over  those 
difficulties,  when,  all  at  once,  the  money  was  lost 
by  the  stoppage  of  a  bank  where  it  was  temporarily 
deposited.  I  had  to  do  something  instantly  to  keep 
myself  from  starvation,  and  took  the  post  of  assist- 
ant teacher  in  a  boys'  school.  For  two  years  I 
taught  Greek,  Latin,  German,  and  some  mathe- 
matics. Then  I  began  to  long  for  a  chance  to  breathe, 
and  I  went  into  journalism.  That  suited  me  better 
for  a  time  ;  then,  in  turn,  I  came  to  loathe  that." 

"But  you  said  you  had  done  ignoble,  pitiful 
things." 

"  Look  here,  Miss  Haxtoun.  Once  in  his  life  a 
man  feels  an  invincible  strength,  which  seems  to  in- 
sure his  getting  from  his  career  all  that  he  craves. 
Intellect,  heart,  imagination,  all  combine  to  make 


116  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

him  strong.  What  have  I  done  with  my  youth  and 
niy  force  ?  " 

"You  have  done  a  great  deal." 

"  I  have  not  starved.  All  that  makes  success  or 
defeat  is,  perhaps,  the  spirit  of  a  life.  Now,  mine 
is  all  wrong.  I  am  always  at  war  with  myself,  my 
surroundings,  my  occupations." 

"  Are  you  unhappy  as  papa's  secretary?"  said 
Cecil,  with  a  tremor  in  her  voice.  It  seemed  to  him 
she  shivered. 

"Are  you  cold?"  he  asked,  throwing  down  his 
oars.  "Where  is  that  cloak  you  brought?"  He 
caught  it  up.  ' '  May  I  put  it  around  you  ? "  he 
asked,  in  a  very  soft  voice. 

She  stood  up.  The  boat  rocked  a  little,  and  he 
flung  his  arms  about  her,  steadying  her  while 
he  drew  the  ribbons  of  the  mantle  and  tied 
them  at  the  throat.  The  night  seemed  to  deepen  in 
silence  around  them  as  they  stood  there.  It  op- 
pressed him  strangely. 

"  Now  sit  down,"  said  he,  with  a  feeling  of  haste 
upon  him.  "  I  must  row  my  best.  It  is  late.  So 
Mr.  Heriot  is  coming  over  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  a  Mrs.  Dalton." 

"  Mrs.  Dalton?"  repeated  Medhurst.  "  How  old 
is  she?"  . 

"Oh,  she  is  young,  —  a  beautiful  woman,  with 
auburn  hair  and  dark  eyes  !  " 

"  Do  you  happen  to  have  heard  her  maiden 
name  ?  " 

"  Fanny  Blake.  Mamma  used  to  know  her  very 
well." 

"And  Mrs.  Dalton  is  staying  at  Mrs.  Esters?" 


A  NIOET  IN  JUNE.  117 

"  Yes.     Do  you  know  her?  " 

"I  know  nobody  nowadays.  I  once  knew  a 
Fanny  Blake  very  well.  She  was  the  niece  of  my 
uncle's  wife,  —  not  my  cousin ;  but  she  was  fre- 
quently at  the  house." 

"And  did  she  have  hair  like  dull-red  gold,  and 
dark  eyes,  and  a  peculiar  smile,  which  torments  one 
a  little,  and  which  one  remembers, — is  that  your 
Fanny  Blake?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  Fanny  Blake." 
>"  You  will  come  into  the  parlor  to-night  and  see 
her?" 

"  Indeed,  I  shall  not." 

"  You  must  wish  to  meet  her  again." 

"  Quite  the  contrary." 

"  Were  you  not  friends?  " 

"Friends?  Oh,  yes  !  But  everything  connected 
with  that  time  in  my  life  I  should  prefer  to  forget." 

Medhurst  was  putting  all  his  strength  into  his  row- 
ing, and  said  no  more.  Cecil  looked  at  Venus  shin- 
ing in  the  west,  with  a  young  moon  beside  her.  She 
experienced  a  vague,  chilly  disappointment,  a  wist- 
ful and  solemn  regret.  The  lights  shone  from  the 
open  doors  and  windows  of  the  houses  along  the 
shores  ;  but  everything,  even  the  familiar,  dusky  face 
of  Rosendale,  seemed  remote  and  far  off ;  real  life, 
which  she  had  dropped  two  hours  before,  appeared 
legendary  and  dreamlike. 

"  Here  we  are,  Miss  Haxtoun,"  Medhurst  said 
presently  with  some  relief,  "  and  there  is  your 
father,  waiting  for  you." 

Mr.  Haxtoun  was  quite  nervous,  and  altogether 
irritable. 


118  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"I  supposed  it  was  only  a  half -hour's  row  you 
asked  about,  my  dear,"  he  said  plaintively.  "I 
have  quite  worn  myself  out  going  up  and  down  the 
walk,  and  I  know  I  have  taken  cold.  I  sneezed 
three  times  in  succession,  and  there  is  a  peculiar 
ringing  in  my  ears.  There  now,  —  I  experienced  a 
distinct  chill,  which  is  probably  malaria.  It  was  ex- 
cessively thoughtless  in  you,  Cecil.  It  is  almost 
nine  o'clock,  and  there  are  guests  in  the  parlor  I  was 
fairly  ashamed  to  face.  If  your  mamma  were  at 
home  "  — 

All  three  of  the  guilty  ones,  of  whom  Mr.  Hax- 
toun  felt  himself  the  chief,  were  very  glad  that  Mrs. 
Haxtoun  was  fifty  miles  away. 


MRS.   HAXTOUN'S   TROUBLES.          H9 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MRS.  HAXTOUN'S  TROUBLES. 

BUT  Mrs.  Haxtoun  came  home  the  following  day, 
and  was  not  slow  in  gathering  the  news  of 
all  that  had  gone  on  in  her  absence.  Miss  Winches- 
ter enjoyed  a  grievance  ;  and  certainly  the  awkward- 
ness of  her  position  the  night  before  was  something 
which  necessitated  unstinted  recital,  with  the  fullest 
details.  All  day  long  she  and  Mr.  Snow  had  been 
talking  over  the  singular,  the  unprecedented,  the 
almost  painful  conjunction  of  circumstances. 

"If  I  were  Heriot,  now,"  Mr.  Snow  had  begun 
more  than  once ;  but,  pregnant  with  doom  as  his 
suggestion  loomed  up,  no  distinct  statement  had 
come  to  light. 

"  If  I  were  your  aunt,"  he-  had  said  again,  — and 
this  came  home  to  Miss  Winchester's  imagination. 

"  I  shall  tell  Aunt  Jenny,"  she  said.  "  I  think  it 
is  my  duty  to  do  so." 

"Yes,  indeed;  it  is  your  duty,  and  I  hope  she 
will'"  — 

The  pause  indicated  something  heavy  with  dis- 
aster to  the  guilty  ones. 

Lilly  felt  it  unfair  not  to  warn  Cecil  of  her  in- 
tention. 

"  I  shall  have  to  let  Aunt  Jenny  know  all  about 


120  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

your  doings  last  night,  Cissy  dear,"  she  said,  in  a 
soft,  cooing,  purring  voice,  going  up  to  her  cousin 
and  putting  her  arms  around  her. 

"What  doings?" 

"  Your  row  on  the  river  with  Mr.  Medhurst." 

"  Of  course  I  should  tell  mamma  about  that  my- 
self." 

"  Should  you,  really?  Aunt  Jenny  would  not  like 
it,  you  know." 

"  "What  harm  was  there  in  it?  " 

' '  Aunt  Jenny  has  always  been  a  little  afraid  about 
Mr.  Medhurst.  He  is  young,  and  very  good- 
looking." 

"  But  why  should  she  be  afraid  of  him?" 

Lilly  nodded,  as  much  as  to  say,  "It  is  all  very 
well  to  make  a  brave  stand,  and  seem  unconscious." 
Then  she  added  aloud,  "  You  know  very  well, 
Cissy  dear,  you  would  never  have  thought  of  going 
out  alone  to  row  with  Mr.  Medhurst,  if  Aunt  Jenny 
had  been  here." 

"  I  can  see  no  harm  in  my  going  out  with  Mr. 
Medhurst,"  Cecil  said,  in  a  dull,  proud  voice. 

Lilly  nodded  again.  "I  see, — that  is  your 
rdle,"  she  seemed  to  say. 

"Just  think,  Aunt  Jenny,"  she  exclaimed,  the 
moment  she  was  alone  with  her  aunt,  "when  Mr. 
Heriot  and  Mrs.  Dal  ton  came  over  last  evening 
there  was  nobody  except  myself,  and  Arthur",  of 
course,  to  receive  them." 

"Where  was  Cecil?" 

"  Oh,  she  came  in,  in  about  half  an  hour,  with  Un- 
cle Leonard.  But  there  was  the  magnificent  Mrs. 
Dalton,  faultlessly  arrayed,  sitting  back  on  the  sofa, 


MBS.   HAXTOUN'S   TROUBLES.          12] 

looking  so  bored,  and  Mr.  Heriot  seeming  altogether 
annoyed  and  put  out.  Arthur  says  he  never  can 
talk  to  Mr.  Heriot,  —  it  causes  him  mental  prostra- 
tion, —  and  after  a  few  ineffectual  attempts  he  gave 
it  up.  Then,  left  to  himself,  Mr.  Heriot  went  over 
to  the  piano  and  began  to  play  softly.  He  played 
very  nicely  indeed,  only  he  finished  nothing ;  after 
going  about  half  through  a  nocturne  or  a  movement 
of  a  sonata,  he  will  all  at  once  make  a  sort  of  impa- 
tient discord,  and  then  begin  something  else." 

"  But  where  was  Alec?  " 

"  Alec  came  in  late,  and  was  eating  his  supper.  I 
could  not  rouse  him  to  any  sense  of  his  duties.  After 
he  saw  Mrs.  Dalton,  however,  he  was  quite  sufficiently 
interested.  Oh,  what  a  coquette  she  is  !  She  even 
made  eyes  at  Arthur ;  but  of  course  he  gave  no  re- 
sponse to  such  overtures.  For  one  thing  I  thank 
Heaven, — Arthur  is  not  easily  run  away  with  by 
fleeting  fancies." 

"  It  all  sounds  very  unreal  and  unlike  anything 
I  am  used  to,"  said  Mrs.  Haxtoun.  "  Your  uncle 
and  Cecil  out ;  Alec  churlishly  attending  to  his  own 
comfort,  and  everything  left  undone  for  the  visitors, 
—  Mrs.  Dalton  a  stranger,  too." 

"  I  don't  think  she  minded;  it  all  diverted  her. 
She  did  not  say  much  to  me  ;  but,  when  she  did  speak, 
she  was  sure  to  ask  some  question,  cutting,  incisive, 
which  went  right  to  the  heart  of  things.  She  had 
seen  Mr.  Medhurst  go  up  the  river  in  the  boat,  and 
she  was  interested  in  finding  out  whether  it  was  a 
Mr.  Medhurst  she  had  once  known,  —  in  fact,  a  sort 
of  cousin  of  hers.  He  has  the  same  name,  but  sho 
could  hardly  make  out  that  it  was  the  one  she  meant. 


122  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

The  chief  reason  was,  that  her  Frank  Medhurst  was 
rather  a  brilliant,  versatile  fellow ;  while  ours  is  a 
sulky  bear,  with  never  a  word  to  say  to  anybody, 
unless  it  may  be  to  Cecil." 

"I  am  sure,  Lilly,  he  rarely  addresses  Cecil,  or 
even  looks  at  her." 

"  What,  —  not  all  last  evening? " 

"  Did  he  come  into  the  parlor?" 

"  No,  I  mean  when  he  was  with  Cecil  on  the 
river." 

"  With  Cecil  on  the  river !  What  do  you  mean, 
Lilly?" 

"  Why,  Aunt  Jenny,  I  was  almost  afraid  to  tell 
you  that  Cecil  was  out  rowing  with  Mi.  Medhurst 
from  half-past  six  until  almost  nine  o'clock." 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  uttered  an  exclamation,  and  then 
checked  herself.  She  was  not  slow  to  perceive  that 
Lilly  found  some  excitement  in  the  situation,  and 
she  did  not  wish  to  commit  herself  to  any  disappro- 
bation of  her  daughter.  It  had  always  been  Mrs. 
Haxtoun's  definite  conviction  that  Cecil  would  never 
do  anything  foolish,  for  the  reason  that,  while  her 
taste  and  judgment  were  maturing,  she  would  never 
be  permitted  the  chance.  Every  indiscretion  of  a 
young  girl  was  her  mother's  fault:  that  was  Mrs. 
Haxtoun's  creed ;  but  just  now  her  faith  in  it  was 
terribly  shaken.  Yet,  after  all,  she  told  herself,  try- 
ing to  be  just  to  Cecil,  if  Mr.  Haxtoun  had  not  first 
introduced  Medhurst  there  would  have  been  no  oppor- 
tunity for  this  foolish,  this  mortifying,  escapade. 
Then,  not  to  blame  Mr.  Haxtouu  too  much,  she  said 
again  mentally,  if  she  herself,  instead  of  weakly 
yielding  to  her  husband's  wishes,  had  strongly  as- 


MRS.   HAXTOUN'S   TROUBLES.          123 

serted  herself,  the  young  man  might  have  been  sent 
away.  At  the  very  sight  of  his  spirited  face,  held  in 
check  by  the  excessive  quiet  in  his  manner,  she  had 
felt  that  he  was  a  dangerous  inmate,  had  heard  "  a 
lion  in  the  lobby  roar."  But  instead  of  putting  bars 
and  bolts  in  his  way,  she  had  confidingly  helped  to 
let  him  in. 

Oh,  how  to  get  him  out  again !  It  had  always 
seemed  to  Mrs.  Haxtoun  that  she  was  very  clever. 
She  foresaw  everything,  and  took  in  the  whole  mean- 
ing of  a  situation  with  the  clearest  insight.  Her 
imagination  was  so  active  that  she  was  able  not  only 
to  predict  what  would  happen,  but  to  indicate  what 
was  likely  to  occur  under  an  entirely  different  set  of 
circumstances.  She  thus  gave  people  the  notion 
that  she  was  wildly  theoretical,  and  her  views 
were  treated  as  clever  fallacies.  When  a  thing  came 
to  pass  she  could  not  say  with  consistency,  "You 
know  I  prophesied  that  from  the  first,"  because 
she  had  also  forecasted  opposite  results.  She  had 
said  to  herself  that  Medhurst  might  prove  the  very 
man  Cecil  was  likely  to  fall  in  love  with ;  but  she 
had  also  said  that  when  a  young  girl's  fancies  were 
in  the  air,  as  it  were,  one  could  not  tell  on  which 
side  of  the  hedge  they  would  presently  settle.  She 
had  at  times  argued  that  the  sight  of  a  clever  fellow 
like  Medhurst,  who,  at  eight-and-twenty,  could  make 
no  income  beyond  what  he  gained  by  a  secretary- 
ship, would  make  evident  the  superior  worth  of 
a  man  like  Heriot,  who  could  offer  a  girl  every- 
thing. Ah,  well !  it  is  so  difficult  to  be  wise  as  a 
serpent  and  harmless  as  a  dove !  —  to  teach  a  girl 
that  she  must  be  good,  self-denying,  religious,  and 


124  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

pure ;  that  she  must  crave  and  seek  beliefs  and 
standards  which  will  uphold  her  all  her  life,  and  be 
substantial  helps  on  which  she  may  rest  "  with  the 
everlasting  arms  "  beneath  her ;  and,  at  the  same  time, 
make  clear  to  her  the  importance  of  sordid  consid- 
erations. Mrs.  Haxtoun  knew  very  well  that  for  most 
people  to  live  successfully  in  this  world  they  are 
compelled  to  serve  two  masters,  to  acknowledge  a 
higher  and  a  lower  law ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  incul- 
cate such  teachings  except  by  example.  Lilly  Win- 
chester knew  all  about  it  almost  instinctively.  She 
was  very  bright,  at  the  same  time  very  proper  and 
safe ;  but  then,  as  Mrs.  Haxtoun  knew  very  well,  she 
was  sly,  and  had  been  known  how  to  get  herself  out 
of  trouble  by  lying. 

It  was  difficult  for  Mrs.  Haxtoun  to  sit  quietly 
through  dinner,  and  hear  her  husband  talking  to 
Medhurst  about  Firdusi,  drowning  his  suggestions 
in  a  flood  of  contradiction,  wearing  out  his  patience 
by  a  slow  deluge  of  interpretations,  citations,  and 
authorities.  It  was  quite  evident  to  her  that  the 
young  man  had  neither  heart  nor  interest  in  the  mat- 
ter, and  that  his  answers  came  neither  from  heart 
nor  brain,  only  from  his  tongue.  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  did 
not,  however,  waste  pity  upon  him  ;  so  far  as  he  was 
concerned  some  mild  form  of  excoriation  seemed  the 
most  proper  thing  which  could  happen.  But  there 
opposite  sat  Cecil,  for  once,  quiet,  lifeless.  As  soon 
as  the  meal  was  over,  Mrs.  Haxtoun  called  her 
daughter  to  her  own  room,  and  made  her  sit  down 
beside  her.  She  pressed  her  hands  over  the  bloom- 
ing cheeks,  and  kissed  her  twice,  gazing  at  her  atten- 
tively, but  tenderly,  and  with  a  yearning  heart. 


MRS.   HAXTOUN'S    TROUBLES.          125 

"You  don't  seem  quite  yourself,  my  dear,"  said 
she. 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me,"  Cecil  re- 
joined ;  "  but  I  feel  strangely  quiet  and  dull  to-day." 

"  Perhaps  you  took  cold  on  the  river,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Haxtoun. 

Cecil  blushed  a  vivid  crimson,  then  looked  at  her 
mother  a  little  defiantly. 

' '  So  Lilly  told  you  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  You  would  have  told  me  yourself,  would  you 
not?" 

"  But  what  was  there  to  tell,  mamma  ?  I  can't  see 
that  there  was  any  harm  in  it." 

' '  Harm  ?  Oh  !  nobody  would  think  of  harm,  act- 
ual harm.  But  it  is  hard  to  say  anything  in  a  sin- 
gle sentence.  There  is  no  harm,  and  yet  there  is 
harm.  Now  tell  me  how  it  was." 

"It  was  just  like  this.  Ever  so  many  of  these 
warm  afternoons  I  have  seen  Mr.  Medhurst  go  down 
to  the  boat-house  and  start  for  a  row ;  and  yester- 
day I  felt  idle,  and  longed  for  something  pleasant, 
and  I  ran  after  him,  and  asked  if  I  might  go  with 
him." 

"  You  are  so  childish  in  some  ways.  What  did  he 
say?" 

"  He  asked  if  you  would  like  it." 

"  He  was  certain  I  should  not.  Really,  he  was 
very  considerate.  But  it  ended  in  your  going." 

"  He  told  me  to  ask  papa." 

"  And  your  papa  consented,  of  course?" 

"Yes,  he  did  not  mind  in  the  least;  but,  then, 
he  did  not  suppose  I  should  be  gone  so  long." 

"How  was  that?" 


126  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

11  We  went  on  and  on.  He  rowed  very  fast,  and 
it  was  so  pleasant,  — you  cannot  think  how  pleasant 
it  was.  Finally  he  asked  me  whether  he  should 
turn,  and  I  said  I  supposed  we  must  go  back,  but 
that  I  should  like  .to  go  on  forever." 

"Do  you  mean  you  actually  said  this  to  Mr. 
Medhurst?" 

"  I  did.  I  may  have  said  more,  but  I  cannot  re- 
member now." 

"And  do  you  really  think  such  remarks  were  in 
good  taste  ?  Now,  just  remember  how  shocked  you 
were  at  Daisy  Miller  and  her  performances." 

The  color  came  and  went  in  Cecil's  face.  Her 
eyes  grew  larger.  An  indescribable  surprise  seemed 
to  be  taking  possession  of  her. 

"But  —  but — that  was  with  a  stranger  —  and — 
and"  — 

" Is  not  Mr.  Medhurst  a  stranger?" 

"  I  —  do  —  not  —  feel  —  that  —  he  —  is." 

Cecil  made  this  confession,  dropping  each  word 
as  if  it  burned  her,  while  at  the  same  tune  some 
emotion  dyed  her  face. 

"But  I  do  not  know  how  you  can  have  got  so 
well  acquainted  with  him.  What  did  you  talk 
about  last  night?" 

Cecil  pondered  a  moment. 

"All  sorts  of  things.  I  could  hardly  tell  you 
half  we  talked  about." 

Mrs.  Haxtoun's  imagination  began  to  be  active ; 
at  this  moment  there  was  hardly  anything  she  would 
have  been  surprised  to  hear.  It  seemed  to  her  as 
if,  instead  of  being  absent  from  her  daughter  a  day, 
she  had  been  away  for  a  year,  —  a  year  that  might 


MBS.   EAXTOUWS    TROUBLES.          127 

have  changed  forever  the  heart  and  the  destiny 
of  the  young  girl,  giving  her  an  imperishable  ex- 
perience of  what  was  bitter  or  what  was  sweet. 
She  had  thought  she  understood  Cecil  perfectly  ;  but 
where  in  her  girlish  life  had  been  the  preparation, 
the  hidden  processes,  leading  to  the  sudden  develop- 
ment of  a  tendency  like  this  ? 

"  And  what  do  you  suppose  Mr.  Medhurst  thought 
of  it  all  ?  "  she  asked. 

Cecil  looked  at  her  with  some  quickening  wonder 
and  apprehension. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said,  hastily. 

"  But  consider.  Here  is  a  young  man  filling,  for 
a  time,  the  position  of  your  father's  secretary ;  he 
is  little  thrown  in  your  way,  and,  when  he  is,  never 
presumes  upon  your  interest  in  him.  But  now  this 
is  the  second  time  you  have  clearly  shown  him  that 
you  have  sought  his  society  ;  that  you  "  — 

Cecil  uttered  a  cry  and  put  her  hands  to  her  fore- 
head ;  but  her  mother  went  on  relentlessly  :  — 

' '  If  Mr.  Medhurst  did  not  flatter  himself  that  you 
had  a  decided  penchant  for  him,  or  that,  at  least, 
you  wished  to  indulge  in  a  little  flirtation,  he  would 
be  unlike  any  other  man,  —  and  I  do  not  believe  that 
he  is  dull." 

Cecil  had  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  Her 
breath  came  quickly,  and  she  was  trembling  all 
over. 

"  You  can  have  no  idea  how  readily  men  yield  to 
the  idea  that  women  are  in  love  with  them,"  Mrs. 
Haxtoun  went  on,  coolly.  "  In  commenting  to  each 
other  upon  the  least  sign  of  preference  given  by  a 
girl,  they  suggest  only  one  interpretation,  and  that 


128  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

is  something  to  make  any  innocent  girl  almost  die 
of  shame." 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  had  now  sent  her  arrow  straight 
home,  and  was  almost  startled  by  the  effect  she  had 
produced.  Cecil  began  to  sob  violently ;  her  head 
was  burning,  her  hands  were  cold  as  ice.  It  was 
impossible  for  her  mother  to  conjecture  just  what 
was  behind  all  this  agitation ;  its  incredible  violence 
seemed  to  mean  more  than  humiliation.  But  the 
idea  of  her  fault,  sharply  presented  to  her,  had  been 
startling  to  all  her  susceptibilities,  and  it  had 
brought  on  a  nervous  attack. 

Cecil  did  not  long  give  way  to  her  sobbing  ;  all  at 
once  she  looked  up  ;  her  shy,  wet  eyes  were  fastened 
upon  her  mother  pleadingly  and  reproachfully. 

"Don't  say  anything  more,"  she  faltered,  in  a 
broken  voice.  "I  —  I  assure  you,  you  do  not  need." 
She  seemed  alarmed  and  ashamed,  and  Mrs.  Hax- 
toun was  not  in  a  mood  to  press  the  matter  further. 
She  had  meant  to  say  more,  fancying  some  little  re- 
sistance on  Cecil's  part ;  she  had  been  ready  to  dis- 
cuss the  social  aspect  of  the  situation  humorously, 
ironically,  sarcastically.  But  something  in  Cecil's 
personality  all  at  once  emerged  out  of  the  shadow, 
stood  erect,  and  half  awed  her. 

"  I  confess,"  she  said,  "  that  I  am  glad  to  let  it 
all  pass,  if  it  will ;  but  then  you  will  learn,  by-and- 
by,  that  things  do  not  pass,  —  that  is,  without  leav- 
ing consequences  which  develop  in  logical  order. 
You  must  realize  that  Mr.  Heriot  is  paying  you  very 
particular  attentions ;  that  naturally  it  must  have 
made  a  deep  impression  upon  him  to  find  you  were 
running  about  in  a  careless  sort  of  way." 


MRS.   HAXTOUN 'S    TROUBLES.          129 

Cecil  looked  straight  into  her  mother's  face. 

"  I  don't  care  about  Mr.  Heriot's  standards/' 
she  said. 

"  I  want  you  to  care  about  them.  It  is  the  dear- 
est wish  of  my  heart,  just  now,  that  you  should  be- 
come Mr.  Heriot's  wife." 

Cecil  looked  at  her  mother  with  a  pale  face.  She 
had  an  expression  as  if  the  light  dazzled  her  eyes, 
and  blinded  her. 

"I  am  sure  he  loves  you  devotedly,"  said  Mrs. 
Haxtoun.  "  He  only  waits  for  some  little  sign  of 
liking  from  you  to  come  forward.  I  hope  you  will 
give  it,  and  soon." 

They  gazed  at  each  other  intently. 

"  He  can  offer  you  everything,"  Mrs.  Haxtoun  pur- 
sued. 

"  He  has  not  got  everything." 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  asked  no  explanation  of  what  Mr. 
Heriot's  limitations  were. 

' '  It  would  make  me  excessively  happy  to  see  you 
married  to  a  man  of  his  standing.  I  have  felt  so 
limited,  so  hindered,  where  you  are  concerned,  —  so 
afraid  that,  at  such  a  disadvantage,  compared  with 
other  girls  who  live  in  great  cities,  and  go  abroad 
constantly,  you  would  be  compelled  to  make  some 
commonplace  marriage.  Really,  I  cannot  help  re- 
garding Mr.  Heriot's  coming  here  as  something 
providential." 

Cecil  drew  in  her  breath  with  a  sort  of  shudder. 

"  Did  you  like  Mrs.  Dalton?  "  Mrs.  Haxtoun  now 
asked,  willing  to  glide  off  to  topics  more  general 
and  of  less  meaning. 

"  No,"  Cecil  answered  abruptly. 


130  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  do  not  know  ;  but  I  disliked  her.  She  looked 
me  over ;  she  smiled  at  me  ;  she  seemed  so  consum- 
mately finished  she  made  me  feel  crude." 

"I  don't  care  about  having  }'ou  like  her;  but 
show  her  nothing  of  your  dislike.  Did  they  say  any- 
thing about  the  Fourth-of-July  fete  f  " 

"  It  was  spoken  of." 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  had  drawn  her  daughter  upon  her 
knees,  and  was  caressing  her  tenderly.  She  began 
talking  over  the  dress  Cecil  was  to  wear  at  the  mati- 
nee, to  which  they  were  all  invited,  and  settled  that 
she  was  to  have  a  new  bonnet,  which  should  make 
the  gown  now  in  the  dress-maker's  hands  a  complete 
triumph.  Mrs.  Haxtoun  had  a  practised  touch  in 
soothing  and  pleasing  those  whose  tempers  had  been 
ruffled,  and  she  was  just  congratulating  herself  that 
Cecil's  enigmatical  emotion  was  quite  spent,  when, 
all  at  once,  to  her  extreme  astonishment,  the  girl 
gave  a  sob,  sprang  up  suddenly,  flew  through  the 
open  door,  and  vanished. 


A  FOUBTE-OF-JULY  F%TE,  131 


CHAPTER  X. 

A   FOURTH-OF-JULY   FETE. 

"A  /TEDHURST  had  been  bidden  to  the  feast  at 
-i-V_L  Mrs.  Este's  for  the  Fourth  of  July,  and  had 
at  first  declined.  On  this  Rodney  Heriot  had  come  to 
see  him. 

' '  You  may  have  bought  a  piece  of  ground  and  five 
yoke  of  oxen  ;  you  may  have  married  a  wife  and  be- 
come lame,  halt,  and  blind,  in  consequence ;  but,  at 
any  rate,  you  can  come  on  a  Fourth  of  July,"  he  in- 
sisted ;  "  and  Mrs.  Dalton  says  you  are  a  cousin  of 
hers,  and  she  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Less  than  kin,  and  less  than  kind,"  answered 
Medhurst.  ' '  However,  since  you  are  so  urgent  I 
will  make  a  point  of  going." 

He  told  himself  the  thing  was  an  irksome  task. 
Mrs.  Dalton  was,  no  doubt,  curious  to  see  her  old 
friend  once  more  ;  but  the  gratification  of  Mrs.  Dai- 
ton's  curiosity  was  no  part  of  his  scheme  of  existence 
nowadays.  However,  since  the  ordeal  was  to  be 
met,  let  it  come,  and  be  over.  It  had  tormented  his 
pride  to  remember  that  he  had  once  boasted  to  Fanny 
Blake  that,  in  spite  of  his  poverty  and  his  insignifi- 
cance, if  she  would  but  trust  herself  to  him  her  life 
should  be  one  long  sunshiny  day ;  that  she  should 
feel  she  had  missed  nothing  ;  that  he  would  be  a  rich 


132  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

man  in  ten  years.  Recalling  his  old  illusions,  and 
his  old  belief  in  his  own  powers,  his  failure  seemed 
something  too  humiliating  to  be  borne.  She  would 
see  at  a  glance  his  whole  history,  and  probe  him  with 
questions  which  would  compel  him  to  confess  his  in- 
competence, his  bad  management,  his  false  judgment 
in  rejecting  openings  which  might  have  led  to  suc- 
cess, and  following  up  instead  clues  that  had  come 
to  nothing.  She  was  clear-eyed  as  a  Fate,  and  had 
probably  known  it  all  from  the  beginning.  He  had 
no  doubt  of  her  magnificence  and  her  success.  He 
had  seen  her  name  in  the  arrivals  and  departures  by 
European  steamers.  There  was  zest  in  her  life, 
picturesqueness,  pleasure.  Well,  he  begrudged  her 
nothing.  She  had  had  no  passions  except  for  the 
idle,  the  luxurious,  the  fictitious,  the  costly. 

He  walked  to  the  fete  with  Alec  Haxtoun,  about 
twelve  o'clock,  on  the  Fourth  of  July.  Alec  looked 
him  over  critically.  "  Why,  you  are  very  well 
dressed ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Much  obliged  to  you.  I  don't  know  a  better 
judge,"  returned  Medhurst.  "I  have  had  the 
clothes  eighteen  months.  I  don't  often  wear  them, 
because  I  like  to  feel  that  I  have  a  coat  somewhere 
which  is  not  out  at  elbows." 

"You  look  very  correct.  You  wear  your  clothes 
very  well.  Now,  I  had  this  suit  made  to  wear  to-day. 
What  do  you  think  of  it?  " 

"  Oh,  it  is  neat ! " 

"Becoming?" 

"Everything  becomes  you,  even  the  white  gai- 
ters." 

"  You  don't  like  the  white  gaiters?" 


A  FOUUTU-OF-JULY  FETE.  133 

"  I  like  everything  you  wear." 

"I  was  not  sure  about  the  white  gaiters,"  said 
Alec,  in  a  tone  of  poignant  regret,  looking  down  at 
his  faultless  trousers.  "But  there  is  such  a  deadly 
quiet  effect  about  this  gray  that  I  wanted  a  little  in- 
dividuality to  crop  out  somewhere.  I  wonder  what 
Heriot  will  think  of  these  gaiters." 

' '  Does  he  take  an  interest  in  clothes  ?  " 

"But  look  at  the  man!" 

"  He  has  never  impressed  me  as  being  well- 
dressed." 

"You  don't  know  the  alphabet  of  the  subject. 
He's  faultless.  His  clothes  fit  like  the  skin  ;  but  he 
never  wears  the  look  of  abject  despair  under  their 
perfection  that  most  fellows  do.  One  wonders  how 
he  does  it." 

"  He  does  not  look  fashionable  to  me." 

' '  That  is  just  it.  He's  not  fashionable.  I  am,  and 
I  know  in  my  heart  that  it  is  abominably  caddish  to 
be  fashionable ;  but  I  can't  help  it,  —  I'm  always 
fashionable.  "What  is  the  effect  to-day  ?  " 

Medhurst  retreated  three  steps  and  gazed  steadily 
at  the  young  man,  whose  suit  was  pale  gray,  fault- 
lessly cut,  everything  excessively  tight ;  whose  hat 
was  bell-crowned,  whose  collar  was  a  straight,  wide 
band  of  linen,  so  stiff  and  so  high  that  it  threw  his 
chin  in  air,  and  whose  shoes  were  pointed  at  the 
toes.  He  carried  a  cane  beneath  his  arm  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees.  His  demeanor  was 
solemn,  —  even  his  smile  was  painful ;  the  unhappy 
smile  such  smiles. 

"  On  my  word,"  said  Medhurst,  "  you  are  so  per- 
fect I  love  to  watch  you.  But  how  do  you  expect 
to  sit  down  ?  " 


134  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  There  will  be  no  necessity  for  my- sitting  down. 
At  these  garden-parties,  you  know,  one  keeps  walk- 
ing about  and  dancing." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know !  "  said  Medhurst.  "  I  hope 
I  may  sit  down." 

"I  wish  I  knew  how  Heriot  would  take  these 
gaiters,"  said  Alec. 

As  Medhurst  walked  along  the  terrace  towards  the 
house  he  was  impressed  by  the  unexpected  pretti- 
ness  of  the  scene.  The  river  was  so  beautifully 
blue  ;  the  trees,  which  partly  hid  and  partly  afforded 
vistas  of  the  water,  were  so  well  grouped,  —  all  the 
distances  were  so  picturesquely  opened  ;  the  Queen 
Anne  house,  with  its  timbers  and  bricks,  its  chim- 
neys and  gables,  made  such  a  bright  contrast  of 
color  beside  the  terraces,  which  were  bordered  by 
tubs  of  orange  and  lemon  trees,  laden  with  fruit, 
and  alternating  with  huge  aloes,  —  that  he  gazed 
about  him  with  frank  pleasure. 

"There  is  our  carriage,  and  there  is  Cecil  just 
alighting,"  Alec  remarked,  and  at  once  went  for- 
ward to  join  his  mother,  sister,  and  cousin. 

Cecil  at  once  became  the  riveting  point  of  the 
picture  for  Medhurst.  She  was  tripping  along  tow- 
ards the  house  after  her  mamma  and  papa,  in  a 
quaint,  lovely  poke  bonnet,  of  white  straw,  trimmed 
with  white  plumes,  and  with  a  huge  bow  of  white 
satin  ribbon  under  the  left  ear.  She  wore,  too,  a 
sheeny  white  dress,  with  a  lace  fichu  crossed  and  tk'd 
behind.  Her  pretty  arms  were  bare  below  the 
elbow,  except  for  some  long  lavender  gloves,  which 
rumpled  loosely  over  the  wrists,  and  in  her  hand  she 
carried  a  bunch  of  white  roses.  She  might  have 


A  FOURTH-OF-JULY  FICTE.  135 

been  a  bride  in  all  this  snowy  white,  Medhurst  said 
to  himself ;  and  with  such  a  bride  as  that  walking 
towards  him,  with  a  shy,  bewitching  sniile,  Heriot 
might  be  easily  forgiven  for  going  out  of  his  senses. 
Medhurst  himself  had  not  spoken  to  Cecil  since  they 
were  on  the  river  together,  now  three  nights  ago.  He 
had  a  fancy  that  the  little  excursion  had  excited  some 
dissatisfaction.  There  had  been  silence  and  thought- 
fulness  on  Cecil's  part ;  she  did  not  once  glance  his 
way  at  table,  and  Mrs.  Haxtoun  had  been  unusually 
reserved.  He  was  not  surprised  ;  the  only  surprise 
he  had  felt  was  at  being  on  the  river  with  Cecil 
alone.  He  had  been  cool  at  the  time,  but  he  had  not 
been  cool  since.  The  worst  thing  about  the  dull, 
monotonous  life  he  led,  he  had  told  himself  repeat- 
edly these  three  last  days,  was  that  his  imagination, 
which  would  not  be  absorbed  by  his  work,  was  free 
to  give  him  all  sorts  of  fantasies  and  dreams. 
Wherever  he  had  been  since  that  evening  Cecil 
had  seemed  to  be  at  his  side,  or  at  least  not  far 
away.  The  boat  was  filled  with  her  presence,  and 
this  phantasmal  image  of  her  had  gained  more  sub- 
stantiality than  she  had  herself  possessed  when  she 
was  there ;  for  then  he  had  been  annoyed  and  tor- 
mented by  doubts  and  fears.  He  recalled  every- 
thing which  she  had  said  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy.  He 
laughed  over  little  phrases,  —  over  her  absurd  con- 
fessions. His  blood  tingled  with  joy  over  this 
strange,  sweet  experience.  But  then,  he  had  so 
little  of  interest  to  think  of,  it  was  not  a  thing  to 
wonder  at  if  he  liked  to  free  his  mind  of  that  in- 
tolerable burden  of  myths  and  legends,  and  experi- 
ence a  moment's  excursion  into  romance  on  his  own 
account. 


136  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

He  stood  at  a  little  distance,  and  watched  Rodney 
Heriot  receive  his  mother's  guests  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps.  He  threw  some  spirit  and  grace-  into  what- 
ever he  undertook,  which  Medhurst  felt  was  beyond 
that  of  most  men.  He  was  faultless  in  the  practice 
of  all  the  minor  social  duties,  and  a  somewhat 
grand  air,  which  he  wore  at  tunes,  took  away 
every  vestige  of  triviality  from  the  performance  of 
them.  Rodney  had  seen  Medhurst,  and  after  he 
had  led  Cecil  up  to  his  mother,  who  sat  just  inside 
the  rose-colored  awnings,  he  came  down  the  terrace 
to  greet  him. 

"  I'm  glad  you  came,"  said  he. 

"  I  am  highly  delighted  with  Fourth-of-July  fetes. 
I  should  have  said  I  did  not  like  them." 

"Begin  by  disliking  things,  and  you  have  a 
chance  of  some  agreeable  disappointments  in  this 
world." 

4 '  I  generally  try  to  keep  up  my  dislike  consist- 
ently." 

"  I  see  you  flatter  yourself  you  are  indifferent  to 
pleasure.  Now,  mark  my  words,  you  like  everything 
pleasant  immensely." 

"  I  liked  that  night  up  the  river." 

"Which  night?" 

Medhurst  had  the  grace  to  blush. 

"  Yours  and  mine." 

"You  will  be  writing  your  'Nights,'  presently, 
like  a  second  Musset.  I  suppose  you  will  be  deny- 
ing the  little  episode  of  three  evenings  ago." 

Medhurst  felt  vaguely  annoyed.  It  seemed  to 
him  bad  taste  in  Rodney  Heriot  to  push  this  allu- 
sion. It  was  the  cruelty  of  the  rich  man  to  deny 


A  FOUBTE-OF-JULT  FETE.  137 

his  poorer  neighbor  the  comfort  of  his  one  little  ewe 
lamb. 

"  If  "  —  he  began,  —  "  if  "  — 

"  WeU,  say  on." 

"  On  second  thoughts  I  will  not." 

"  You  do  not  deny  it,  at  least." 

"Deny  it?  — no." 

'  *  You  glory  in  it  ?  "  Rodney  was  laughing,  but 
his  eye  was  serious. 

"  No,  I  regret  it,  since  any  one  alludes  to  it  in  that 
tone." 

"  On  my  word,  Medhurst,"  said  Rodney,  "I  like 
you  extremely  ;  I  wish  you  liked  me  half  as  well." 

"I  like  you  well  enough,"  said  Medhurst.  "It 
would  have  been  strange  if  I  had  not  liked  you  after 
your  talk  of  the  other  night." 

' '  I  tingled  all  next  day  at  the  thought  of  what  I 
had  said.  Don't  ever  remind  me  of  my  confessions. 
I  don't  wish  ever  to  hear  of  them  again  till  the  day 
of  judgment." 

He  passed  his  arm  under  Medhurst's. 

"How  well  have  you  known  Mrs.  Dalton?"  he 
asked. 

' '  We  grew  up  together.  She  spent  all  her  vaca- 
tions in  my  uncle's  house." 

' '  Hm  —  hm  —  You  must  know  her  pretty  well. 
My  mother  has  made  a  good  deal  of  her ;  used  to 
take  her  abroad  every  summer.  We  have  met  year 
after  year,  but  I  am  always  afraid  of  these  fascinat- 
ing women." 

"  Yes,  —  I  understand  that." 

' '  You  can  hold  your  own  very  well  against  them. 
You  have  dignity,  self-respect ;  you  are  loyal  to  your 


138  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

best  feelings ;  you  resolutely  put  down  your 
worst"  — 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  that  description  fits  me  to  a  hair." 

"  Come  and  speak  to  Mrs.  Est6  first.  She  is 
anxious  to  see  you.  Don't  let  her  fasten  herself  to 
you,  —  she  is  a  regular  '  Ancient  Mariner,' "  said  the 
dutiful  son.  They  had  walked  up  the  steps  .and 
across  the  porch,  and  now  entered  the  parlor,  and 
found  Mrs.  Est6  sitting  on  a  sofa.  She  wore  a  black 
gown,  of  delicate  gauze,  which  sparkled  with  jet,  and 
her  pretty  head,  with  its  airy  white  curls,  rose  out 
of  it  in  piquant  contrast. 

"  You  never  thought  it  worth  while  to  come  before 
to  see  a  dull  old  woman  like  me,"  she  exclaimed, 
with  the  mignonne  air  of  her  youth. 

Thus  challenged,  Medhurst  was  at  a  loss  for  a 
rejoinder. 

"Tell  her  you  were  afraid  of  her  fascinations," 
said  Rodney.  "  Self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of 
nature,  you  know." 

"Don't  put  your  own  wicked  speeches  into  the 
young  man's  mouth,"  said  Mrs.  Est6.  "He  has 
wit  enough  to  answer  for  himself.  I  like  his  face. 
I  shall  do  him  no  harm ;  an  old  woman  is  no  bad 
friend  for  a  young  man.  She  can  tell  him  what  to 
choose,  what  to  avoid ;  what  to  do,  and  what  to 
leave  undone.  One  has  to  be  old  to  know  these 
things." 

"  She  does  not  look  old,  does  she?"  said  Rodney. 

"  She  looks  to  me  very  charming,"  Medhurst 
replied,  making  a  second  low  bow  to  the  old  lady. 

"  She  has  taken  the  elixir  of  youth,"  proceeded 
Rodney.  "  But,  unluckily,  she  took  too  much  of  it, 


A  FOURTH-OF-JULY  F$TE.  139 

not  knowing  exactly  the  prescription  which  would 
make  her  a  fine  woman  of  forty,  and,  quaffing  a 
double  allowance,  she  became  the  pretty,  infantile 
creature  you  see  her." 

"He  is  never  tired  of  teasing  his  old  mother," 
said  Mrs.  Este".  "He  is  rather  bored  with  me." 

"  Oh,  no,  I'm  not !  "  said  Rodney.  "  Somehow  it 
seems  '  homey '  and  comfortable  to  have  a  mother." 

"  Make  the  most  of  me  while  I  last,"  said  Mrs. 
Este",  with  her  little,  impatient  movement  of  the 
shoulders.  "  Go  on  and  speak  to  Mrs.  Dalton," 
she  added,  smiling  up  at  Medhurst  with  her  pretty, 
faded,  little  smile.  "  I  fancy  you  are  an  old  lover 
of  hers.  She  is  anxious  to  see  you.  All  of  us 
women  have  a  tender  heart  for  the  men  who  loved 
us  in  our  youth." 

Rodney  and  Medhurst  passed  on.  "Women  of 
that  age  are  always  twenty  years  behind  an  idea," 
said  the  son.  "She  always  reminds  me  of  the 
withered  actress,  who  played  the  part  of  Zaire,  and 
when  she  was  praised  said,  modestly  and  deprecat- 
ingly,  '  But  one  ought  to  be  young  and  beautiful  to 
fill  that  r61e.'  — '  Ah,  madam,'  said  the  flatterer,  '  you 
have  proved  the  contrary  ! ' ' 

' '  I  admire  a  woman  who  retains  her  traditions  of 
power  in  her  old  age,"  said  Medhurst. 

"I  don't,"  returned  the  son,  succinctly.  "In 
fact,  I  think  no  pretty  woman  ought  to  live  after 
she  is  forty." 

"  Ugly  women  may  continue  in  existence,  I  hope." 

"  They  ought  never  to  be  allowed  to  live  at  all. 
But  here  is  Mrs.  Dalton !  She  possesses  the  clearest 
raison  d'etre." 


140  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Mrs.  Dal  ton  was  the  centre  of  a  group,  but  moved 
towards  Rodney  and  Medhurst  at  once. 

"  Dear  Cousin  Frank !"  she  cried  with  some  effu- 
sion ;  and,  standing  on  her  tiptoes,  as  if  she  were 
petite  and  he  immoderately  tall,  she  lifted  her  cheek 
to  be  kissed. 

Medhurst  had  rarely  been  more  annoyed  in  his 
life.  He  had  for  years  experienced  an  inarticulate 
and  smouldering  resentment  against  Fanny,  but  had 
been  conscious  of  at  once  loving  while  he  hated, 
adoring  while  he  despised,  her.  He  would  as  soon 
have  thought  of  going  down  on  his  knees  and 
declaring  his  passion  before  all  the  world  as  of 
brushing  her  cheek  with  his  lips  while  Heriot  and 
all  the  guests  looked  on.  But  he  did  it,  nevertheless, 
flushing  violently  all  the  while,  and  she  drew  back 
and  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  with  a  smile  he  knew. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  dear  Cousin  Frank," 
she  said,  in  a  clear,  vibratory  tone. 

"  It  is  a  long  tune  since  we  met,"  Medhurst  re- 
marked, almost  dryly. 

"  Tell  me  you  are  glad  to  see  me  again." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again.  You  are  looking 
well." 

"  Am  I?  "  She  sighed  a  little,  and  looked  down  at 
herself. 

u  I  saw  you  last  six  years  ago  in  April." 

"  Do  not  insist  on  my  remembering  what  is  suffi- 
ciently in  my  thoughts  already,  —  that  I  am  six  years 
older." 

' '  You  have  lost  nothing  apparently,  and  have 
gained  much." 

"  What  have  I  gained?  " 


A  FOURTH-OF-JULY  FETE. 

"More  beauty,  more  accomplishments, — to  say 
nothing  of  wealth,  honors,  magnificence  " — 

She  slipped  her  arm  under  his. 

"Come  into  the  next  room,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  Those  people  are  all  listening.  If  you  had 
stopped  with  beauty  and  accomplishments,  or  if  you 
had  added  knowledge  of  the  world  " — " 

' '  Six  years  ago  I  never  thought  you  had  anything 
to  gain  in  the  way  of  knowledge  of  the  world." 

"I  knew  nothing  then, — absolutely  nothing. 
Every  idea  I  had  in  those  days  was  a  false  one,  —  the 
outcome  of  foolish  fancies  gained  from  books  or 
from  commonplace  people." 

Medhurst  looked  down  at  her  with  close  scrutiny. 
She  had  withdrawn  her  arm  from  his  and  walked 
along  two  paces  from  him.  She  was  a  very  finished- 
looking  woman,  and  displayed  admirable  nerve  and 
poise  in  the  way  she  carried  herself  and  controlled  the 
least  movement  of  her  dress.  She  wore  white,  of 
some  airy  texture,  almost  completely  covered  with 
lace,  her  slender  figure  and  unusual  height  enabling  her 
to  carry  off  any  amount  of  accessories  with  an  effect 
of  elegance.  Her  slim  waist  was  bound  with  a 
violet  ribbon,  and  the  wide-brimmed  straw  hat  she 
carried  on  her  arm  was  trimmed  with  pansies. 

"As  to  my  wealth,"  she  went  on,  "I  suppose 
you  know  I  am  poorer  than  I  was  six  years  ago, 
when  I  had,  at  least,  eight  thousand  dollars  of  my 
own." 

"Poorer?"  he  echoed,  startled  out  of  some  com- 
putation of  the  probable  cost  of  the  lace  she 
wore. 

Mrs.  Dalton  had  had  her  little  confession  to  make, 


142  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

and  had  now  acquitted  herself  of  it  bravely,  she 
thought. 

"  Oh,  I  am  horribly  poor !  "  she  said.  "  I  don't 
see  what  remains  to  me  except  to  go  on  the 
stage." 

"  The  very  place  for  you.  But  does  Mr.  Dalton 
sanction  that  sort  of  ambition  ?  " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  startled. 

"  He  would  hardly  enjoy  seeing  you  "  — 

She  clutched  his  arm  with  vehemence.  "How 
can  you  talk  in  that  way  ? "  said  she,  under  her 
breath.  "  Don't  you  know  "  — 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  thought  Medhurst.  "  There 
has  been  a  scandal,  a  divorce,  or  something." 

" I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  aloud.  "Beyond 
the  fact  of  your  marriage,  six  years  ago  in  June,  I 
am  absolutely  ignorant  concerning  you." 

"  Mr.  Dalton  died  almost  three  years  ago,"  she 
murmured,  dropping  her  eyes.  "Don't  you  see  I 
still  wear  a  sort  of  mourning  ?  " 

"  Oh,  forgive  me !  "  said  Medhurst,  eagerly.  "  I 
was  heartless."  He  scanned  her  dress,  and  won- 
dered where  the  signs  of  woe  could  be  to  which  she 
alluded.  He  had  played  the  cynic  in  meeting  Fanny 
again,  and  now  experienced  remorse.  The  logical 
gap  between  Fanny  as  an  ambitious  girl,  breaking  an 
engagement  of  five  years'  standing  to  marry  a  rich 
man,  and  now  as  a  married  woman  well  placed  in  the 
world,  he  had  filled  up  with  a  rich  lover,  a  doting 
husband,  all  the  pleasures  and  excitements  of  a 
brilliant  social  life.  To  find  her  a  widow  was  a  dif- 
ferent matter ;  such  an  experience  stimulated  pity, 
sympathy,  forgiveness  ;  gave  her  the  dignity  of  one 


A  FOURTH-OF-JULT  F&TE.  143 

who  had  gone  through  experiences,  comprising  what 
is  most  sacred  and  pathetic  in  life. 

"Have  you  children?"  he  asked,  with  strong 
curiosity. 

"Thank  goodness,  no!"  she  cried ;  then  added, 
in  a  different  voice,  ' '  If  you  knew  what  makeshifts 
I  am  put  to  you  would  not  wonder  that  I  almost  re- 
joice no  fresh  young  life  depends  upon  me.  Now 
let  us  talk  about  yourself."  But  there  was  no 
chance  of  a  longer  tete-d-tcte  just  then.  Mr.  Hax- 
toun  had  walked  about  with  Cecil  for  a  time,  then 
had  put  her  in  a  corner,  and  set  out  for  his  private 
enjoyment.  He  had  a  great  deal  to  say,  and  burned 
for  a  listener  possessed  of  intelligence  and  modesty. 
He  grudged  the  holiday  both  for  himself  and  Med- 
hurst.  Ten  sheets  of  foolscap  would  not  be  spoiled 
to-day,  and  the  loss  concerned  him  intimately. 
Still,  it  was  Fourth  of  July,  and  if  a  man  were  ever 
to  unbend,  throw  off  his  armor,  lie  down  in  his 
tent,  it  was  on  a  broiling  day  like  this,  with  bursts 
of  cannon  reverberating  at  intervals  from  points  up 
and  down  the  river,  while  flags  were  flying,  tor- 
pedoes exploding,  and  the  general  hubbub  was  so 
intolerable  that  it  was  difficult  to  sustain  the  close 
logical  .  thoughts  with  which  his  brain  usually 
teemed.  But  everything  was  auspicious  for  con- 
versation, and,  seeing  Rodney  Heriot  standing 
apparently  unoccupied  except  in  watching  Mrs. 
Dalton  and  Medhurst,  he  bore  down  upon  his  host 
with  the  smile  of  the  foernan  who  sees  his  prey  and 
is  ready  to  strike. 

"  This  is  quite  a  break  in  my  routine,"  he  ob- 
served. "  Usually,  at  this  hour  of  the  day  "  — 


144  -4  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Rodney  had  seen  himself  marked  as  game. 

"I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons;  but  I  am  just 
about  to  seize  this  fortunate  moment  to  take  your 
daughter  into  the  picture-gallery,"  and  he  darted 
towards  Cecil. 

Mr.  Haxtoun  was  disappointed,  and  his  eye  trav- 
ersed the  room.  He  had  never  succeeded  in  finding 
exactly  his  long-coveted  opportunity  to  explain  the 
full  scope  of  his  work  to  Rodney  Heriot.  He 
turned,  and,  as  luck  would  have  it,  Medhurst  and 
Mrs.  Dalton  were  just  at  his  elbow. 

"  I  was  just  saying,  Medhurst,"  he  observed, 
"  that  at  this  hour  of  the  day  you  and  I  were  gen- 
erally shut  up  in  the  study." 

"  Surely  you  are  not  regretting  your  dreary  old 
work  on  a  day  like  this,  in  a  room  full  of  lovely 
women,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton,  smiling  up  at  the  old 
gentleman. 

"  Nothing  equals  the  charm  of  a  beautiful  woman 
except  the  enthralment  of  a  fixed  idea,"  said  Mr. 
Haxtoun.  "  If  you  knew  the  engrossing  nature  of 
our  occupation,  the  delight  of  a  slowly  developing 
theory  like  a  bud  into  the  flower "  — 

Mrs.  Dalton,  to  her  dismay,  saw  Medhurst  slip- 
ping into  the  crowd-  She  was  left  alone  with  the 
author. 

"  That  sounds  very  delightful,"  said  she,  her  far- 
darting  glances  seeking  some  chance  of  relief. 

Mr.  Haxtoun  found  himself  a  fortunate  man.  He 
liked  any  listener,  but,  above  all,  a  woman  young  and 
beautiful,  and  who  smiled  into  his  eyes. 

" In  the  primitive  mind,"  he  began,  "unrestrained 
by  the  long  literary  and  scientific  traditions  of  which 


A  FOURTH-OF-JULY  F$TE.  145 

we  wear  the  yoke,  there  was  a  capacity  for  burning 
enthusiasm,  for  spontaneous  invention,  for  mould- 
ing into  permanent  shape  the  full  form  of  the  ele- 
mentary human  idea  "  — 

"I  wish  I  had  a  primitive  mind,"  said  Fanny. 
"  I  should  like  to  burn  with  enthusiasm,  and  mould 
an  elementary  human  idea  into  permanent  shape." 

"  If  you  would  only  study  the  Aryan  epics  "  — 

"What  are  they?"  asked  Fanny,  with  an  irre- 
sistible smile,  —  "  anything  nice  and  naughty?  " 

"  Um-uin  !  "  said  the  old  gentleman  to  himself,  half- 
liking  and  half-disliking  this  surprise.  "  I  think 
you  would  find  some  of  them  rather  —  rather,  we 
will  say,  piquant.  The  primitive  mind  was  not 
scared  by  improprieties  ;  the  Aryan  epics  "  — 

"  I  never  heard  anything  so  immoral.  Was  that 
what  you  meant  when  you  said  I  had  a  primitive 
mind? — Dear  Mrs.  Este,"  she  called,  as  that  lady 
tottered  slowly  by,  "  here  is  Mr.  Haxtoun  telling 
me  I  am  not  scared  by  improprieties !  " 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  scaring  /urn,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Este,  who  thought  that  the  old  gentleman 
seemed  to  be  encountering  some  surprise  more  or 
less  tickling  to  his  sense  of  enjoyment. 

"  I  think  Mrs.  Dalton  has  spirit  enough  to  be  in- 
troduced into  an  epic,"  he  rejoined.  "  I  was  telling 
her  about  the  great  Aryan  epics." 

"  I  used  to  read  Milton's  '  Paradise  Lost,'  "  said 
Mrs.  Est£.  "  Were  you  going  to  repeat  it  to  Fanny  ? 
She  wants  a  paradise  regained,  perhaps." 

"  They  might  be  included  in  the  scheme.  I  have 
sometimes  thought  they  ought  to  be  included  in  the 
scheme,"  returned  Mr.  Haxtoun,  thoughtfully  ;  "  but 


14G  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

by  Milton's  day  the  warm,  sensuous,  glowing  pagan- 
ism of  the  primitive  mind  "  — 

"  There  !  He  is  talking  about  me  again !  "  cried 
Fanny,  and  glided  off,  leaving  Mrs.  Est6  to  stem 
the  author's  eloquence.  She  wondered  where  Med- 
hurst  had  gone,  and  peered  for  a  moment  into 
the  picture-gallery,  where  half-a-dozen  people  were 
sitting,  and  Rodney  Heriot  was  standing  in  front 
of  a  Fortuny,  talking  to  Cecil  Haxtoun.  Fanny  did 
not  care  to  go  in,  although  she  saw  that  Medhurst 
was  there,  in  the  alcove.  She  cared  nothing  for  art 
herself,  and  always  laughed  when  she  heard  people 
uttering  commonplaces  before  pictures.  She  curled 
her  lip  at  all  landscapes,  except  those  of  Diaz.  She 
liked  figures  when  they  were  well  done,  and  had  an 
unerring  instinct  for  a  bit  of  clever  painting  in  flesh 
or  drapery.  She  wondered  what  Rodney  was  say- 
ing to  Cecil,  for  whom  she  had  quite  an  admiration 
to-day,  although  at  first  sight  she  had  thought  her 
merely  a  slight,  juvenile  creature.  She  always  ad- 
mired a  woman  dressed  in  good  taste,  who  drew  men. 
It  never  occurred  to  her  to  compare  herself  with 
others  of  her  sex.  She  knew  her  own  powers,  and 
how  to  use  them,  and  wanted  no  more.  She  did 
not  even  begrudge  Cecil  the  chance  she  enjoyed  of 
winning  Rodney  Heriot.  Those  advantages  belonged 
to  the  beautiful  age  of  nineteen.  Fanny  had  had  her 
chance,  she  told  herself,  and  very  bad  use  she  had 
made  of  it.  She  was  now  twenty-nine,  and  what 
she  had  to  do  was  to  gather  up  the  fragments  that 
were  left. 

Rodney  Heriot  had  found  Cecil  in  an  unusual 
mood  to-day.  He  had  never  seen  her  look  so  deli- 


A  FOURTH-OF-JULY  FETE.  147 

ciously  pretty,  and  the  air  she  wore  was  as  fresh  and 
unspoiled  as  her  dress.  She  seemed  timid  before 
him;  her  color  came  and  went.  Instead  of  her 
usual  frank,  fearless  gaze  into  his  face  her  eyes 
perpetually  drooped,  and  try  as  she  would  to  raise  the 
heavy  lids  and  look  at  him,  it  was  an  impossible  task. 

"  Do  you  like  pictures?"  Rodney  had  asked  her, 
as  he  took  her  into  the  gallery. 

"  I  like  some  very  well,"  she  had  replied. 

"  The  late  inestimable  Este  laid  out  enormous 
sums  in  pictures,  and  some  of  them  are  very  well 
done,  — regular  rich  men's  pictures,  most  of  them." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  rich  men's  pictures? " 

"Vivid,  distinct  pictures  of  the  world  and  the 
things  that  are  in  the  world.  What  did  Este"  care 
for  thought  in  his  canvases  ?  " 

"  Is  there  no  thought  in  these  pictures?" 

"My  words  come  from  the  jealous  envy  of  an 
artist  who  tried  and  failed." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  an  artist?" 

"I  tried  and  failed.  I  studied  for  eighteen 
months  in  a  Parisian  atelier." 

"  What  kind  of  pictures  did  you  paint?" 

"Very  bad  ones." 

' '  What  kind  of  pictures  did  you  try  to  paint  ?  " 

"It  is  unkind  to  ask  me.  What  do  you  like  best, 
Miss  Haxtoun  ?  Do  you  fancy  this  Diaz,  — the  Fon- 
tainebleau  forest,  with  the  great  oak  and  the  open 
glade  in  sunshine,  the  russet  and  green  foliage, 
and  the  deep  shadows,  —  or  do  you  prefer  this 
Neuville?" 

"  I  do  not  like  battle-pieces." 

"  But  I  fancy  you  like  some  life  put  into  a  land- 


148  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

scape ;  for  instance,  these  excellent  cattle,  by 
Troyon." 

Cecil  said  nothing,  looked  at  the  cattle,  and  then 
away. 

"  Here  is  an  evening  scene  of  Millet's,  and  another 
of  Jules  Breton's  ;  which  do  you  choose?  " 

"I  could  not  tell." 

"But  observe  the  difference.  Millet's  gives  a 
mere  group  of  peasants  gathering  up  their  potatoes 
in  bags,  in  a  great,  flat,  open  field,  with  a  dull  sky 
bending  over  it.  Don't  you  feel  the  silence,  the 
loneliness,  the  grimness,  bareness,  hideousness  of 
the  lives  of  those  men  and  women,  with  their  un- 
couth forms  and  their  hard  faces  ?  There  is  hardly 
any  vivid  color,  and  the  picture  is  certainly  not  dec- 
orative. You  may  exert  what  imagination  you  pos- 
sess to  fill  out  those  limitless  horizons,  where  a  few 
stunted  shrubs  are  cut  dully  against  the  gray  sky,  but 
the  figures  themselves  deny  that  life  contains  any 
of  the  enchantments  of  promise  and  hope,  anything 
save  toil  and  sleep,  and  a  dull  misery  under  both. 
Now  look  at  Breton,  and  observe  what  a  pretty, 
human  idea  he  has,  and  how  nobly  he  has  treated  it. 
The  sunset  is  as  fine  as  that  you  had  when  you  went 
rowing  up  the  river,  the  other  night,  and  see  how  it 
is  reflected  on  that  young  girl's  face,  which  kindles 
as  at  a  kiss." 

Cecil  had  flushed  slightly,  but,  rallying,  she  said, 
looking  at  Rodney  out  of  the  corners  of  her  dark 
eyes,  that  "  she  thought  he  at  least  preferred  the 
Millet." 

"I  never  take  the  trouble  to  have  preferences. 
Let  each  tell  his  own  tale  and  in  his  own  way. 


A  FOURTH-OF-JULY  FETE.  149 

Here  is  a  Munkacsy  and  there  a  Meissonnier,  strong 
pieces  of  realism,  and  masterpieces  of  art.  But 
how  do  you  like  this  Corot?" 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  Mr.  Heriot,"  said  Cecil,  softly. 

"But  what  is  there  to  tell?  It  is  all  there, — 
the  still  pool,  with  the  reflections  of  the  faintly 
flushed  evening  sky,  and  a  glimpse  of  the  sunset 
through  the  interlaced  branches  of  the  trees ;  the 
grasses  and  sedge  bending  towards  the  water ;  the 
deep  shadows  under  the  bank,  the  dead  log  half 
submerged ;  the  path  leading  out  from  the  woods, 
and  the  boy  driving  home  a  few  sheep,  which  huddle 
together  in  the  dark.  The  idea  of  evening  inter- 
penetrates every  twig  and  branch  and  blade  of 
grass.  The  nightingales  will  sing  presently.  All 
nature  beckons  on  to  the  enjoyment  of  pure  bliss 
and  —  lumbago. " 

Rodney  could  play  any  part  for  a  little  time,  but, 
once  at  home  in  it,  he  experienced  a  desire  to  exag- 
gerate, even  to  caricature  it.  He  could  hardly  re- 
strain himself  now  from  talking  the  wildest  nonsense 
to  the  young  girl,  who  was  listening  to  him  as  she 
had  never  listened  before.  It  occurred  to  him  it 
would  be  a  clever  joke  to  lead  her  up  to  a  group  of 
Bouguereau's  soft,  shapely  nymphs,  bathing  in  a 
forest  nook,  and  point  out  their  beauties ;  and  to 
strangle  this  inclination  and  keep  himself  guarded 
and  within  bounds  was  as  heroic  a  piece  of  self- 
denial  as  he  had  achieved  for  many  a  day. 

"Aren't  you  tired  of  this  eternal  gloaming?"  he 
asked.  "  Let  us  look  at  something  else.  Either 
one  is  bored  and  goes  to  sleep  in  the  twilight,  or  one 
is  haunted  by  the  fancy  of  some  happiness  out  of 


150  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

one's  reach.  Moonlight,  starlight,  night  voices, 
night  perfumes,  night  winds,  and  night  music  fill 
one's  soul  with  frantic  horror  at  times,  mocking:  with 

*  O 

a  beauty  which  will  not  soothe.  Night  is  like  a 
woman." 

"  Why  is  night  like  a  woman? " 

"It  might  rest  us;  it  might  content  us;  but  it 
never  does,  —  it  only  maddens  us  with  dreams." 

"  I  don't  understand  you  at  all,"  said  Cecil, 
gazing  at  him  inquisitively. 

"Of  course  you  don't;  why  should  you?  You 
look  as  if  you  went  to  bed  every  night  at  nine 
o'clock  and  slept  till  dawn." 

"  Since  I  have  grown  up  I  sit  up  late,  quite 
late,"  declared  Cecil,  indignantly. 

"  Did  you  ever,"  pursued  Rodney,  "go  into  the 
garden  early  in  the  morning,  and  find  freshly  opened 
roses  drenched  with  dew?  Or  great  white  lilies, 
with  deep,  golden  hearts,  just  unfolding  their  petals 
in  the  stir  of  the  morning  breeze?  Or  have  you 
stooped  under  a  bough  of  sweetbrier,  and  seen  the 
blossoms  against  a  background  of  blue  sky  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Cecil,  wonderingly. 

"  You  are  like  the  morning,  not  like  night,"  said 
Rodney,  who  had  been  looking  at  her  with  a  heavy 
gaze,  which  oppressed  her,  but  now  turned  it  away. 
"Come  over  here  and  see  this  Madrazo,"  he  went 
on.  "  It  will  take  the  taste  of  the  Corot  out  of  our 
mouths,  so  that  we  can  go  back  and  talk  to  every- 
day people.  There  is  no  sentiment  here  ;  no  sylvan 
sense  ;  no  nature,  —  all  is  false,  artificial ;  poison- 
ous flowers,  deceitful  love,  a  wild,  eager  thirst  for 
pleasure.  Look  at  the  pretty  women,  with  their  gay 


A  FOURTH-OF-JULY  F$TE.  151 

dresses  of  satin,  silk,  and  gauze.  See  that  arch 
face  above  that  fan !  Confess,  now,  that  you  find 
this  brilliant  civilization  intelligible.  Do  you  love 
to  dance  ?  " 

"Dearly." 

He  looked  at  her.  "  I  don't  like  to  think  of  you 
in  a  ballroom  like  this,  with  these  clever,  trained 
women.  It  would  delight  me  to  see  you  dance  ;  yet 
it  would  shock  me  to  the  soul  to  see  you  love  it  as 
some  women  do." 

"I  have  been  to  three  balls,  and  have  danced 
every  time." 

"  We  must  have  a  ball  for  you.  You  have  looked 
at  enough  pictures,  I  am  sure.  There  are  too  many 
of  them.  There  ought  never  to  be  more  than  six  in 
one  room.  I  hate  collections  ;  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  never  had  a  collection  of  anything,  so  I  have 
always  hated  not  to  have  collections." 

' '  Do  you  want  all  the  things  you  have  not  had  ?  " 

"  Every  one  ;  I  should  hate  to  miss  anything." 

Rodney  looked  at  her,  his  clever  face  full  of  mis- 
chief. 

"  One  of  these  days  somebody  will  offer  you  a  key, 
and  say,  '  Here,  mademoiselle,  is  the  key  which  will 
turn  the  wards  and  open  the  great  treasure-house  of 
the  world  to  you.'  Then  you  will  accept  it  with  a 
little  courtesy,  and  come  immediately  into  the  posses- 
sion of  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth." 

"  I  doubt  very  much  whether  I  should  be  so  sub- 
missive and  grateful,"  said  Cecil.  "  I  have  heard 
about  Bluebeard's  chamber,  and  should  prudently 
reply,  '  Thanks  ;  I  very  much  prefer  not  to  go  rum- 
maging into  places  which  do  not  belong  to  me.'  " 


152  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Rodney  burst  out  laughing.  Her  answer  was 
immensely  piquant  to  him. 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  pity,"  said  he,  "  that  I  have 
to  give  you  up  and  go  and  offer  my  arm  to  an  old 
woman,  to  take  her  out  to  luncheon." 

"  To  my  mamma,  perhaps." 

"  No,  indeed.  I  delight  in  your  mamma ;  if  not 
the  rose,  she  lives  so  near  the  rose  she  is  worth 
picking.  No,  it  is  Mrs.  Croome,  —  the  one  with  the 
red  nose  and  the  crumpled  gown.  She  is  both  a 
stranger  and  a  magnate,  I  believe." 

"She  is  my  great-aunt." 

"  I  thought  it  likely  you  were  connected  with  her, 
and  that  was  the  reason  I  unburdened  myself ;  and 
I  give  you  leave  to  abuse  any  of  my  relations  in 
return." 

"  I  might  say  something  candid  about  Mrs.  Este's 
son." 

44  Do.  I  would  give  half  of  what  I  don't  possess 
to  know  what  you  thought  of  me." 

"  Then  I  shall  not  tell  you." 

"  Oh,  but  do !  Did  you  ever  think  about  me  at 
all?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  did,  to-day." 

"  What  did  you  think? " 

44  That  it  was  as  somebody  told  me." 

44  What  did  somebody  tell  you? " 

44  That  you  had  interesting  things  to  tell." 

4 'Who  said  that?" 

44  Mr.  Medhurst." 

The  name  jarred  on  Rodney.  He  had  fairly  suc- 
ceeded in  rousing  Cecil  out  of  her  languid  and  list- 
less mood.  She  had  many  a  time  turned  towards 


A  FOUBTH-OF-JULY  F&TE.  153 

him  with  her  indescribable  smile.  She  was  not  so 
arch  and  mischievous  as  usual,  and  he  preferred  this 
more  self-conscious  mood.  But  this  aUusion  to 
Medhurst  spoiled  it  all. 

"  I  would  rather  have  you  gain  your  impressions 
of  me  at  first  hand,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  If 
you  are  willing  to  know  me  I  will  lay  my  heart  and 
soul  bare  before  you." 

Cecil  grew  pale  and  drew  herself  to  her  full 
height.  Her  young  face  took  an  intensely  indignant 
look,  and  the  glance  she  gave  Rodney  was  far  from 
tender. 

He  did  not  hammer  down  his  stroke. 

"  Medhurst  has  a  chance  of  going  back  to  his 
early  love,  now,"  said  he.  "  He  and  Mrs.  Dalton 
were  engaged  for  five  years,  and  then  she  flung  him 
over  for  a  rich  man,  whom  she  married,  and  who  left 
her  poor." 

Cecil  listened  intently. 

"Is  that  true?"  she  asked,  with  a  peculiar 
glance. 

"Oh,  yes!  I  have  it  from  one  of  the  principal 
parties  in  the  affair.  To  be  candid,  she  told  me  ;  and 
Medhurst  had  already  given  me  an  inkling  of  his 
experience.  I  don't  think  he  has  outlived  it ;  and, 
anyway  — 

"  '  On  revient,  on  revient  toujours 
A  ses  premiers  amours.'  " 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  had  been  looking  for  Cecil  with  dis- 
creet zeal,  and  now  approached  the  trio.  Luncheon 
was  just  about  to  be  announced,  she  said,  with  a 
smile,  to  Rodney,  and  he  must  not  neglect  his  duties. 


154  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Rodney  had  no  alternative,  and  hurried  away  to  the 
old  lady,  whom  he  hoped  to  call  his  own  great-aunt 
before  many  months.  He  had  been  growing  more 
and  more  deeply  in  love  with  Cecil  every  hour. 
She  was  so  beautiful  to-day  :  he  looked  at  her  with 
a  kind  of  despair,  he  longed  for  her  so ;  at  the 
thought  of  repulse  from  her,  he  now  began  to  ex- 
perience a  sense  of  dread.  He  tore  himself  away 
from  her  with  regret. 

Mrs.  Croome  had  heard  that  Rodney  was  atten- 
tive to  her  grand-niece,  and  felt  it  her  duty  to  put 
her  possible  grand-nephew  through  a  catechism  in 
morals  and  behavior,  and  by  a  judicious  course  of 
questionings,  plied  incessantly  in  the  pauses  between 
her  plates  of  croquettes,  salads,  and  boned  turkey, 
restored  Rodney  to  his  usual  equipoise.  He  gave 
her  his  biography  with  a  few  incisive  touches,  which 
left  little  to  be  desired  in  the  way  of  suggestiveness. 
He  allowed  her  to  understand  that  he  had,  in  all 
places  and  at  all  times,  taken  the  religion  of  the  coun- 
try he  was  in  for  his  own,  with  its  habits  and 
customs,  — had  lived  chiefly  in  the  East,  and  longed 
to  return  there.  He  found  indescribable  zest  in  the 
sight  of  the  horror  growing  in  her  face,  and  was  at 
no  loss  to  understand  the  struggle  going  on  in  her 
mind  between  her  revolt  at  his  confessions  and  her 
assured  belief  that  he  was  a  desirable  parti  for 
Cecil. 

"  I'm  afraid  you're  something  of  a  sinner,"  she 
said,  finally,  holding  her  third  glass  of  Bordeaux  to 
her  lips.  "What  you  need  is  a  wife  to  reform 
you." 

' '  I've  always  heard  the  fair  sex  is  never  averse 


A  FOUBTH-OF-JULY  F&TE.  155 

to  the  task  of  reforming  a  sinner,"  said  he. 
' '  But  how  about  the  three  wives  I  have  got  al- 
ready ?  " 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Haxtoun  and  Cecil  had  sat  down 
near  Mrs.  Este",  who  was  drinking  bouillon  and 
listening  to  Mr.  Haxtoun,  who  was  giving  her  a 
ghastly  account  of  his  troubles  from  dyspepsia. 
The  old  gentleman  had  been  having  a  very  good 
time  indeed.  Mrs.  Est6,  after  a  few  little  sallies, 
had  proved  quite  submissive  ;  and,  allowed  for  once 
in  his  life  a  fair  start,  he  had  enlightened  her  con- 
cerning the  entire  history  of  his  great  undertaking  ; 
while  she  continued  to  gaze  at  him  as  if  fascinated, 
his  intricacies  seeming  to  be  her  delight,  and  his 
mysteries  her  most  pleasing  study.  From  the  com- 
manding pinnacle  whence  he  looked  down  at  her 
he  had  contemplated  the  little  interruptions  of 
people,  coming  and  going  and  offering  comments, 
without  discomposure,  and  had  held  his  course 
straight  on  until  he  took  her  out  to  luncheon.  Here 
other  thoughts  suggested  themselves,  and  he  began 
to  tell  her  of  the  impediments  which  hindered  too 
easy  a  success. 

It  must  be  confessed  the  old  gentleman  looked 
guilty  when  his  wife  approached.  Mrs.  Est6  greeted 
mother  and  daughter  with  rapture,  and  made  a 
place  for  Cecil  close  beside  her. 

"What  will  you  have,  ma  belief"  she  asked, 
summoning  everybody  within  reach.  "  You  don't 
want  bouillon.  You  are  of  the  age  when  anything  can 
be  eaten." 

"  A  most  dangerous  practice,"  said  Mr.  Haxtoun, 
solemnly.  "  Cecil,  I  advise  you  especially  to  avoid 


156  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

anything  iced  on  a  warm  day  like  this,  —  it  might 
give  you  a  chill." 

"  I  particularly  long  for  a  chill,  papa,"  said  Cecil ; 
"  I  am  so  warm." 

"  That  is  what  it  is  to  be  young,"  cried  Mrs.  Este", 
with  a  little  admiring  shriek.  "Violent  contrasts, 
swift  alternatives,  dabbling  first  in  one  element  and 
then  in  the  other, — above  all,  a  little  suspicion  of 
running  risks  and  courting  dangers.  Youth  delights 
in  all  these,  and  does  not  know  how  time  is  prepar- 
ing its  revenges.  At  one  time  I  used  to  live  on 
birds  and  a  salad  mayonnaise.  Now,  my  poor  old 
organs  will  not  take  the  trouble  to  digest  anything 
except  broth  and  milk." 

"A  cup  of  hot  water,  — just  as  hot  as  you  can 
drink  it,  — sipped  slowly,"  put  in  Mr.  Haxtoun,  "  will 
obviate  much  " — 

"  Mr.  Haxtoun  is  always  anxious  to  prescribe 
what  has  failed  in  his  own  case,"  said  his  wife,  feel- 
ing that  her  duty  in  this  emergency  was,  at  any  cost, 
to  stem  the  tide  of  her  husband's  eloquence.  "  It 
was  so  good  of  your  son,  Mrs.  Est6,"  she  proceeded, 
* '  to  take  the  trouble  to  show  Cecil  the  best  pictures 
in  the  gallery." 

"Quite  the  labor  he  delights  in,  I  fancy.  And 
did  you  like  the  pictures,  my  dear  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Cecil. 

"  Poor  Mr.  Est6  took  such  a  pleasure  in  buying 
everything  which  might  please  me,"  sighed  the  widow. 
' '  Nowadays  I  am  as  unimportant  as  a  figure  on  a 
screen  ;  but  my  husband  never  thought  me  so.  He 
would  ransack  Europe  to  find  a  novelty  for  me. 
If  you  want  to  be  happy,"  she  added  to  Cecil, 


A  FOURTH-OF-JULY  FETE.  157 

"  have  a  husband  who  adores  you,  and  who  is  so  rich 
he  can  satisfy  all  your  little  whims." 

Medhurst  had  been  standing  at  a  little  distance, 
but  now  thought  proper  to  approach  the  group,  and 
make,  at  least,  a  bow  to  Mrs.  Haxtoun  and  Cecil, 
whom  he  had  not  before  met  that  day.  He  was 
struck  by  something  unusual  in  the  glance  of  the 
young  girl.  She  raised  her  eyes,  and  looked  at  him 
steadily,  as  if  wishing  to  read  clearly  whatever  was 
evident  in  his  face  and  manner.  There  was  some- 
thing both  serious  and  proud  in  her  air  ;  something 
between  indignation  and  reproach  in  her  gaze.  She 
looked  superbly  handsome ;  but  he  had  a  sense  of 
something  menacing  and  portentous  in  her  mood,  as 
if  she  had  been  shaken  to  the  bottom  of  her  soul 
and  longed  to  inflict  pain  on  others.  She  bowed  to 
Medhurst,  and  Mrs.  Haxtoun  addressed  him  with 
especial  graciousness. 

"  So  you  and  Mrs.  Dalton  are  cousins  !  "  she  said, 
rather  archly. 

"So  it  seems,"  replied  Medhurst.  "We  called 
the  same  good  man  uncle  years  ago.  That  makes 
us  cousins." 

"  I  congratulate  you  very  much,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Haxtoun.  "  It  will  be  quite  delightful  to  have  an 
old  friend  in  the  neighborhood.  It  is  very  dull  for 
you  with  us." 

In  fact,  Mrs.  Haxtoun  felt  lighter  of  heart  than 
she  had  done  for  many  a  day.  Mrs.  Dalton  had  not 
only  shown  her  interest  in  this  excellent,  but  super- 
fluous, young  man,  but  had  also  displayed  some 
zeal  in  attracting  him  to  her  by  palpable  signs  of 
the  link  between  them. 


158  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"A  very  handsome  woman,  that  Mrs.  Dalton," 
said  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 

"  Magnificent  eyes,"  said  Mrs.  Est6  ;  "  it  must  be 
a  sensation  to  look  into  them.  I  am  an  old  woman, 
and  no  longer  dangerous  myself,  but  I  love  to  see 
one  of  those  thorough-bred  young  women.  It  is  the 
jeunefille  like  you,  Cecil,  who  touches  the  heart ;  but 
the  woman  of  thirty  conquers  the  head,  —  and  men 
have  no  hearts  nowadays.  They  like  handsome 
toilettes,  wit,  and  grace.  It  is  easy  to  talk  to  a 
woman  like  Fanny,  —  no  necessity  for  burrowing 
into  the  earth  or  soaring  into  the  air  for  subjects. 
What  she  thinks  about  is  the  man  before  her,  and 
what  she  intends  him  to  think  about  is  herself. 
Fanny  is  very  easy  to  get  on  with." 

Medhurst  listened  with  an  air  of  not  understand- 
ing the  subject. 

"I  admire  your  wood-carvings  very  much,  Mrs. 
Estey  he  now  remarked,  looking  at  the  black  oaken 
buffet. 

"  The  figures  frightened  me  last  winter,  when  I 
was  here  all  alone,  grinning  and  gnashing  their  teeth 
at  me,  —  the  monsters  ! " 

"  This  dining-room  is  superb,"  Medhurst  remarked 
to  Cecil. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  distinctly;  "the  whole 
house  is  more  beautiful  than  any  I  was  ever  in." 

"  Todo  estd  a  la  disposition  de  V.  M.  At  your 
disposal,  my  dear,  as  the  Spaniards  say,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Est6.  "It  needs  a  charming  young cjid,telaine." 

"  It  ought  not  to  go  begging  for  one,"  said  Med- 
hurst, who  felt  indescribably  nettled,  without  choos- 
ing to  define  the  reason  of  his  irritation.  He  was 


A  FOURTH-OF-JULY  FETE.  159 

smiling,  nevertheless,  and  his  glance  rested  on 
Cecil  for  a  moment  meaningly. 

She  sprang  up.  "Dear  Mrs.  Este,"  said  she, 
"may  I  not  show  Mr.  Medhurst  about?  I  know 
the  house  so  well,  and  I  should  like  to  point  out  its 
beauties  to  him." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear." 

"But,  Cecil,"  put  in  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  "you  are 
taking  it  for  granted  that  Mr.  Medhurst  is  at 
leisure." 

"Oh,  do  not  fear,  mamma!"  said  Cecil,  with  a 
charming  little  movement.  "  Mrs.  Dalton  is  in  the 
corner  with  Alec,  and  Mr.  Medhurst  is  quite  dis- 
engaged." 

A  little  while  before  Cecil  had  been  indolent  and 
haughty,  but  now  she  was  alive  to  her  finger-tips. 
She  moved  on  a  little  before  Medhurst,  who  could 
compare  the  pride  and  grace  of  her  movement  only 
to  that  of  a  thorough-bred,  who  rears  and  paws  the 
ground  under  the  curb.  She  led  the  way  across  the 
hall  to  the  parlors  without  saying  a  word,  and  he 
followed,  perplexed,  and  almost  pained.  If  this 
were  society  he  wanted  no  more  of  it.  It  seemed 
to  him  as  if,  since  he  came  to  the  house,  every  sensi- 
tive spot  in  his  heart  and  mind  had  been  pierced 
with  little  arrows,  —  pretty,  feathered  things,  aimed 
surely  and  sent  deep.  He  was  in  accord  with 
nothing  and  no  one.  He  was  not  flexible  or  mobile 
enough  to  get  along  with  these  people ;  he  had 
brooded  over  certain  thoughts  for  years,  and  given 
them  a  sort  of  sacredness,  which  made  it  impossible 
to  allude  to  them ;  his  spiritual  life  was  entirely 
individual.  Then,  intellectually,  he  had  crammed 


160  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

himself  with  ideas  and  facts  which  might  be  useful 
to  him  in  his  career,  pigeon-holing  them,  as  it  were, 
in  his  mind,  but  they  made  no  material  for  conver- 
sation. The  stiff,  machine-like  movement  of  his 
mental  processes  gave  no  response  to  the  easy 
dialogue  which  went  on  at  every  hand  without 
effort  or  abruptness.  His  impulses  of  liking  and 
disliking,  his  sympathies,  his  careless  thoughts, 
which  vibrated  and  undulated  through  his  brain 
perpetually,  he  had  taught  himself  to  check,  and 
never  to  give  them  expression.  He  felt  at  an  utter 
disadvantage,  and  longed  to  be  away.  He  had 
experienced  a  momentary  wish  to  approach  Cecil ; 
but  he  regretted  it  now.  Whatever  she  had  been 
the  other  night,  to-day  she  was  haughty  and  scorn- 
ful. Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well ;  it  had  needed 
this  experience  to  make  him  entirely  calm,  and  allow 
the  vivid  impression  she  had  made  upon  his  imagi- 
nation to  fade  entirely  away.  Mrs.  Este"  had  almost 
claimed  her  as  her  daughter  in  his  presence,  and  the 
young  girl  had  accepted  the  position  with  alacrity. 
She  had  wanted  to  show  him  with  what  a  regal 
setting  her  young  beauty  was  to  be  enhanced.  He 
felt  stiff  and  proud,  and  looked  so. 

The  parlors  were  very  light  and  airy  in  their 
effect.  A  dado  of  the  palest  gold,  with  a  procession 
of  figures  from  Greek  vases,  was  set  off  by  walls 
and  ceiling  of  delicate  azure.  There  were  no 
heavy  hangings  ;  the  draperies  were  all  of  exquisite 
lace  ;  the  rugs  on  the  inlaid  floors  were,  however,  of 
the  richest  tints,  and  threw  the  paler  hues  into  the 
most  perfect  relief. 

"The  cabinets  here  are  not  only  very  beautiful, 


A  FOURTH-OF-JULY  F&TE.  161 

but  they  are  very  rare  and  costly,"  said  Cecil.  "  It 
is  worth  while  to  look  at  them." 

"  The  general  effect  is  enough  for  me.  I  like  the 
sparkle  and  splendor ;  the  room  is  fit  for  a  queen." 

"  The  little  nooks  are  so  perfectly  finished. 
Come  and  sit  down  here  a  moment.  Could  any- 
thing be  more  perfect  ?  Look  at  the  vistas  through 
those  arches !  Every  beautiful  effect  has  been 
studied.  Mr.  Est6  had  a  mind  for  details." 

"  And  for  the  tout  ensemble  as  well.  Did  you 
ever  see  the  man  ?  " 

"Oh,  frequently!  They  came  here  regularly 
every  April ;  then  in  June  Mrs.  Este  went  to 
Europe,  but  returned  in  September,  and  stayed  here 
until  towards  Christmas.  The  house  was  frequently 
full  of  visitors,  and  they  were  very  gay.  It  was 
before  I  went  out." 

"  Did  you  like  Mr.  Este  ?  " 

"  He  was  only  so  high,"  said  Cecil,  raising  her 
little  hand  to  a  height  of  about  four  feet  six 
inches  from  the  floor.  "  He  looked  like  a  monkey  ; 
chattered  and  gesticulated  like  one.  He  was  inces- 
santly in  motion,  and  wanted  something  to  be  going 
on.  He  seemed  entirely  foreign  both  in  looks  and 
manner." 

"  He  and  his  step-son  did  not  get  on  well." 

"  So  I  have  heard.  Mr.  Heriot  was  always  in 
Europe,  and  when  Mrs.  Est£  went  abroad  he  used 
to  join  her  at  her  villa  near  Lago  Maggiore." 

"  Mr.  Est6  did  not  accompany  her?" 

"Never.  He  used  to  say  he  could  not  afford  to 
be  more  than  three  hours'  distance  from  Wall 
street." 


162  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"The  whirligig  of  time  brings  strange  revenges, 
since  all  this  man's  wealth  is  now  almost  in  his 
step-son's  grasp." 

"  Mr.  Heriot  often  alludes  to  that." 

The  two  were  sitting  down  face  to  face  in  deeply 
cushioned  chairs,  one  of  pale  blue  and  the  other  of 
gold  embossed  satin.  Medhurst  had  said  to  himself 
that  she  seemed  to  be  doing  the  honors  as  if  she 
had  been  three  years  married.  He  burned  to  say 
something  which  should  show  her  how  deep  an 
impression  her  assumption  of  ownership  made  on 
him,  and  yet  how  insignificant  he  thought  an  ambi- 
tion which  culminated  merely  in  this.  But  he  could 
think  of  nothing  incisive  enough  which  at  the  same 
time  was  not  a  little  harsh. 

"  Mr.  Heriot  has  seen  a  good  deal,"  he  remarked. 
"  He  has  tried  a  good  many  occupations  ;  but  he  will 
settle  down  comfortably  now,  and  a  year  hence  will 
say  that  hitherto  he  has  had  no  enjoyment." 

"You  like  Mr.  Heriot  very  much,  do  you  not?' 

"  I  do ;  I  assure  you  I  do."  His  eyes  met  hers, 
and  he  smiled  significantly. 

She  sprang  up,  flushing.  "  We  must  go  on  to  the 
library  while  the  crowd  is  still  in  the  dining-room," 
she  said. 

He  followed  her  movement.  "  I  really  do  not 
know  what  the  need  of  a  library  is  in  a  house  like 
this,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Would  you  have  no  library?  " 

"  I  say  I  cannot  see  the  need  of  a  library  in  a 
house  like  this.  Books  are  for  the  poor,  the  lonely, 
and  the  unhappy." 

She  looked  at  him  questioningly. 


A  FOURTH-OF-JULY  FF.TE.  1G3 

"How  about  pictures?" 

"  Oh,  they  are  decorative.  "Walls  are  empty 
spaces  unless  filled  in  some  way.  But  while  you  sat 
in  that  blue  chair,  against  the  tortoise-shell  cabinet, 
covered  with  the  blue  china,  I  thought  to  myself, 
'  This  is  the  true  work  of  art.  What  Boldini  or 
Zamacois  could  paint  this  ? '  : 

' '  That  is  a  very  pretty  compliment.  If  I  lived  in 
a  home  like  this  "  — 

"When  you  live  in  a  home  like  this,"  he  inter- 
rupted. 

"  I  would  try  to  put  out  the  most  vivid  pictures. 
After  all,  there  is  no  movement,  no  change,  in  a 
painting.  The  artist  may  have  chosen  a  happy 
moment ;  but  it  is  only  a  moment.  One  tires  of  it, 
and  longs  for  a  new  impulse,  a  fresh  suggestion." 

"  No  one  will  ever  tire  of  you,  Miss  Haxtoun. 
Your  art  has  no  boundaries,  no  limitations.  You 
live  in  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  devices  and  caprices." 

She  smiled  at  him  defiantly. 

"This  is  the  library,"  she  now  announced; 
"  according  to  you,  a  superfluous  room  in  this 
house.  I  fancy  Mr.  Heriot  does  not  think  so  yet." 

"  No,  —  not  quite  yet." 

He  gave  the  four  words  all  the  meaning  of  which 
they  were  capable. 

"He  has  his  piano  here,  and  his  violin,"  said 
Cecil.  "  It  seems  Mrs.  Dal  ton  is  a  clever  pianist, 
and  she  accompanies  him.  They  practise  the 
'Kreutzer  Sonata.'  I  suppose  you  have  heard 
Mrs.  Dalton  play." 

"  Except  for  her  playing  I  should  have  known 
little  or  nothing  of  music." 


164  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Does  she  play  well?" 

"  I  hardly  remember.  What  I  do  remember  is 
that  she  practised  endlessly.  She  was  ambitious  to 
excel  in  music.  Whatever  she  touches  she  is  impa- 
tient to  perfect  herself  in,  or  used  to  be ;  and  I 
thus  became  familiar  with  the  music  she  studied, 
and  any  strain  of  it  to  this  day  comes  charged  with 
a  meaning  far  greater  than  its  own,  and  expresses 
what  is  absolutely  individual  to  me,  and  unintelli- 
gible to  others." 

Cecil  was  looking  at  him  ;  she  had  grown  a  little 
pale  and  languid. 

"  Will  you  come  on  to  Mrs.  Esters  boudoir,  or 
have  you  seen  enough?"  she  asked,  with  all  the 
spirit  flatly  gone  out  of  her  face  and  her  voice. 

' '  I  have  seen  enough  to  be  convinced  that  the 
house  is  very  beautiful.  It  is  rather  a  vain  and 
bitter  jest  to  go  on  showing  such  luxury  to  a  poor 
man.  How  do  you  know  that  the  sight  of  it  does 
not  inspire  communistic  rancor  against  Heriot?" 

Even  if  Cecil  had  cared  to  answer  she  had  no 
time,  for  Rodney  Heriot  and  Mrs.  Dalton  were  close 
beside  them. 

"  Miss  Haxtoun  was  kindly  showing  me  the 
splendors  of  your  house,"  said  Medhurst,  addressing 
Rodney. 

"  My  house?  It  is  not  my  house  at  all,"  Rodney 
replied. 

"  I  wish  it  were  mine,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton. 

"Not  having  it  at  my  disposal  I  cannot  offer  it 
to  you,"  said  Rodney.  "  Otherwise  "  —  He  finished 
with  a  low  bow. 

"  Mr.  Heriot,"  said  Cecil,  interrupting. 


A  FOURTH-OF-JULY  F&TE.  165 

He  turned  to  her  instantly. 

"  Will  you  take  me  to  mamma?  "  she  asked,  with 
an  absolutely  infantile  imperiousness  ;  and  when  he 
offered  his  arm  she  took  it  at  once,  and,  without  a 
glance  at  the  others,  walked  away. 

"  That  little  girl  is  rude  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton 
to  Medhurst.  "I  wonder  why?  Is  she  always 
rude,  or  is  it  because  she  is  annoyed?  Does  she 
fancy  I  am  going  to  rob  her  of  her  rich  lover  ?  " 

Medhurst  was  looking  after  the  two  as  they 
walked  down  the  room  together. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  dreamily. 

"  What,  —  are  you  in  love  with  her  too?"  Fanny 
asked,  with  her  low  laugh. 

"  I  ?  "  exclaimed  Medhurst.  ' '  I  am  not  invaria- 
bly in  love  with  girls  who  are  making  rich  marriages. 
Is  she  engaged  to  Heriot,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  —  I  fancy  not.  Indeed,  from  what  I  have 
seen  and  heard,  I  had  supposed  she  was  inclined  to 
hold  him  off.  But  this  does  not  look  so.  Perhaps 
she  may  be  jealous  of  me,  and  feels  it  important  to 
secure  him.  Do  you  think  she  cares  about  him  ?  " 

"Diamonds,  not  hearts,  are  trumps,  I  fancy," 
replied  Medhurst ;  ' '  and  in  that  case  it  is  doubly 
important,  is  it  not,  in  case  of  doubt,  to  take  the 
trick?" 

But  even  while  he  said  it  he  half  hated  himself  for 
the  cynicism.  He  longed  to  be  away,  and  made  his 
excuses  at  once.  He  did  not  get  away,  however, 
until  he  had  made  an  engagement  to  walk  with 
Fanny  the  next  morning.  • 


166  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

MRS.    DALTON  TAKES   A  HORNING  WALK. 

MRS.  DALTON  had  looked  forward  to  reestab- 
lishing her  power  easily  over  Medhurst.  Ten 
years  before  she  had  obtained  a  complete  ascendency 
over  him,  when  he  was  a  mere  boy  and  she  a  ma- 
ture woman,  three  years  his  senior ;  and  it  was  one 
of  her  fixed  beliefs  that  masculine  passion  is  eter- 
nal. She  knew  the  lack  of  any  durability  in  her 
own  feelings,  which  were  mere  knots  of  ribbon, 
which  she  adjusted  here  or  there,  just  as  they  were 
useful  or  becoming ;  but,  with  an  irresistible  feminine 
instinct,  she  went  on  counting  on  the  permanence 
of  any  sentiment  she  had  excited.  He  had  been  in 
love  with  her  once  ;  and,  in  spite  of  his  youth,  there 
had  been  something  about  his  appeal  which  had 
forced  her  to  listen.  They  became  engaged,  and 
if  he  had  not  left  her,  to  study  at  Heidelberg  for 
eighteen  months,  it  is  possible  that  she  might  have 
become  his  wife.  When  he  came  back,  however, 
he  soon  knew  that  it  was  all  over.  Fanny  put  the 
case  before  him  with  sufficient  distinctness.  He 
was  poor,  and  was  likely  to  remain  too  poor 
to  marry ;  while  wealth  and  position  were  abso- 
lutely essential  to  her.  The  six  years  since  they 
parted,  shortly  before  her  marriage  to  Edward 


A  MOENING   WALK.  167 

Dalton,  seemed  to  her  very  short  and  very  ineffect- 
ual years.  Her  marriage  had  been  a  disappointing 
experience  :  a  day,  an  hour,  a  minute,  even,  she  told 
herself,  had  shown  her  that  she  had  made  a  mistake. 
She  had  married  a  broker,  who  was,  at  the  time  of 
her  meeting  him,  rich.  His  marriage  was  the  end  of 
his  run  of  good  luck  ;  he  never  was  rich  any  more, 
and,  three  years  after  taking  a  wife,  he  saw  nothing 
before  him  save  getting  himself  out  of  the  world  as 
quietly  and  expeditiously  as  possible,  in.  order  to 
avert  certain  uncomfortable  exposures.  Mr.  Este" 
had  been  wronged  by  the  dead  man ;  but  Mr.  Este" 
could  be  very  generous  when  he  chose,  and  when  his 
wife  told  him  he  must  do  nothing  to  make  Fanny 
unhappy,  he  quietly  paid  over  a  certain  amount  of 
money,  and  nobody  ever  knew  just  what  a  forger  and 
embezzler  Edward  Dalton  had  been.  The  suicide 
had  made  some  details  for  the  morning  and  evening 
papers  for  two  days,  and  it  might  seem  strange  that 
Medhurst,  who  was  in  the  way  of  such  news,  had  not 
known  that  the  man  was  Fanny  Blake's  husband. 
But  probably  Medhurst's  wildest  imaginations  would 
never  have  compassed  the  idea  that  the  man  who 
had  the  happiness  to  be  her  husband  could  have 
taken  himself  out  of  the  world  in  such  a  way.  Mrs. 
Este"  had  been  friendly  to  the  young  widow,  ever 
since  making  her  a  companion  in  journeys  to  Europe, 
and  at  all  times  when  she  needed  efficient  help  and 
companionship.  Fanny  understood  very  well  that 
she  was  not  to  enjoy  such  advantages  for  nothing, 
and  that  it  was  not  worth  her  while  to  jeopardize 
them  by  any  sort  of  behavior  Mrs.  Este"  did  not  like. 
For  instance,  although  Mrs.  Este"  had  a  marriageable 


168  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

son,  Fanny  was  not  to  flirt  with  him  except  within 
bounds.  The  old  lady  had  extraordinary  subtlety 
in  such  matters,  and  could  distinguish  with  the 
utmost  nicety  between  flirtations  of  the  head  and 
those  of  the  heart.  Everything  was  permitted  up  to 
a  certain  point,  but  it  must  cease  there.  Fanny 
could  carry  out  these  views  better  than  women  of  a 
more  ardent  and  less  restrained  temperament.  But 
these  perpetual  warnings  had  given  Rodney  Heriot 
a  certain  value  in  her  eyes.  She  had  liked  his  fight 
to  the  end  with  his  step-father ;  she  always  liked  a 
brilliant  rebel,  who  never  yields,  and  finally  gets  more 
than  he  ever  asked  for.  And  was  not  Rodney 
this  child  of  good  luck  ?  She  liked  him,  too,  because 
he  lacked  discipline  ;  she  hated  a  man,  she  declared, 
of  whom  one  could  predict  to  a  certainty  what  he 
would  do.  Fanny  was,  in  fact,  misled  by  a  woman's 
unreason  and  by  her  temperament ;  she  mistook 
almost  always  the  theatrical  for  the  dramatic,  and  the 
high-sounding  for  the  noble.  When  she  had  produced 
an  effect  herself  she  felt  that  something  had  been 
achieved,  and  when  she  in  turn  was  moved  by  any- 
thing striking  she  called  it  great.  Thus  she  under- 
stood by  instinct  one  side  of  Rodney  Heriot's  mind 
without  in  the  least  degree  mastering  the  other.  It 
always  seemed  to  her  they  were  in  complete  sympathy, 
because  he  talked  to  her  with  the  most  absolute  free- 
dom, with  the  same  absence  of  illusion,  the  same  allu- 
sions to  actual  experience,  as  if  she  had  been  a  man, 
never  using  formulas  or  circumlocutions.  Rodney  had 
repeatedly  told  her  that  he  hated  etiquette  and  the 
starch  of  society  ;  that  he  had  never  been  able  quite 
to  distinguish  between  mere  conventionalism  and 


A  MORNING   WALK.  169 

necessary  restriction  ;  that  he  liked,  in  fact,  to  gam- 
bol on  all  fours,  if  he  chose.  She  had  humored  him 
ever  since.  She  was  the  most  fastidious  of  women 
where  any  detail  of  feminine  behavior  was  concerned. 
She  never  touched  wine.  She  maintained  an  exquis- 
ite refinement  in  even  her  brilliant  mobility  ;  she  was 
absolutely  circumspect ;  but  intellectually  she  gave 
hei'self  plenty  of  latitude,  and  was  not  easily  shocked. 
She  and  Rodney  met  on  the  footing  of  a  man  and 
woman  of  the  world.  The  difference  between  them 
was  that  she  treated  everything  like  a  toy  which  was 
offered  for  her  amusement,  while  he  broke  it  open, 
to  see  what  was  inside. 

She  felt  that  she  understood  Rodney ;  the  man 
whom  she  did  not  understand  was  Medhurst.  She 
had  been  candidly  delighted  with  the  idea  of  meeting 
him  again.  She  said  to  everybody  that  he  was  her 
best-loved  cousin,  and  at  their  encounter  she  had 
treated  him  like  a  cousin.  She  had  felt  that  to  see 
him  here  in  the  country,  where  one  was  thankful  for 
any  boon,  might  be  a  pleasure,  almost  an  excite- 
ment. But  he  was  not  pliable  to  opportunity ;  he 
obstinately  refused  to  accept  the  role  she  thrust 
upon  him.  He  had  always,  she  remembered,  been 
of  stiff  clay,  and  not  too  easily  moulded.  She  was 
anxious,  however,  to  discover  just  what  was  in  his 
mind  about  her,  and  looked  forward  to  the  appointed 
interview  with  some  eagerness.  She  told  Mrs.  Este" 
before  retiring  that  she  had  promised  to  walk  with 
her  cousin,  who  had  no  time  to  give  her  except  the 
early  morning  hours.  Mrs.  Este"  had  no  objection. 
She  thought  it  was  likely  to  give  anybody  a  long  day 


170  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

to  rise  at  half-past  five ;  to  be  up  at  nine  o'clock 
had  imposed  upon  the  poor  old  lady  some  terribly 
endless  mornings. 

Fanny  was  standing  at  the  stile  when  Medhurst 
came  down  the  Haxtouns'  garden,  the  fifth  of  July, 
and  at  the  sight  of  her  he  paused  and  pulled  out  his 
watch.  "  I  thought  I  was  not  late,"  said  he. 

"  Of  course  it  ought  to  be  you  who  were  waiting, 
but  nothing  happens  exactly  as  it  did  in  my  youth," 
said  Fanny.  "  Having  waked  up  too  early  I  thought 
I  might  as  well  come  out.  There  is  always  some- 
thing unreal  to  me  about  the  beauty  of  a  summer 
morning,  when  all  the  world  is  asleep." 

"  By  all  the  world  you  mean  the  few  men  and 
women  who  live  in  fine  houses.  Nature  does  not 
reserve  herself  for  them." 

"I  confess,"  remarked  Fanny,  laughing,  "that 
my  powers  of  imagination  are  not  equal  to  the  task 
of  imagining  nature  going  on  when  I  am  not.  Can 
you  conceive,  for  instance,  that  Niagara  is  thunder- 
ing over  the  precipices  at  this  moment,  or  that  the 
Alps  are  turning  pale  after  the  golden  shimmer  of 
dawn  has  died  away?  When  I  come  away  every- 
thing stops  for  me." 

"  I  never  considered  that  the  Alps  took  it  seriously 
to  heart  when  the  tourist  season  was  over.  One 
might  imagine  them  saying  to  each  other,  '  Now 
that  the  ant-race  has  passed  we  will  have  some  fine 
moments  together.' " 

"That  sounds  so  exactly  like  you,  Frank.  You 
never  flattered  me  nor  called  my  nonsense  agreeable. 
If  I  had  made  my  last  speech  to  Rodney  Heriot,  he 


A  MORNING   WALK. 


would  have  said,  '  Charming  egotist  !  '  and  added 
that  naturally  everything  fell  to  pieces  in  my 
absence." 

"Having  lived  six  years  away  from  you,  going 
through  my  own  course  of  transformations  in  lonely 
grandeur,  I  have  solved  the  problem  of  how  well 
nature  does  this  when  you  are  not  looking  on." 

'  '  I  am  not  so  sure  that  you  have  thriven  in  the 
process.  You  have  grown  thin  ;  you  have  lost 
those  boyish  good  looks  which  every  one  used  to 
admire.  There  is  a  little  frown  between  your  brows. 
Your  voice  is  dryer.  Formerly,  your  smile  was 
open  and  sunny.  I  cannot  see  that  you  ever  smile 
nowadays." 

Medhurst  laughed  a  little  at  all  this.  They  had 
continued  to  stand  at  the  stile,  and  now  he  vaulted' 
over. 

"Where  shall  we  go?"  said  he,  —  "through 
yonder  woods,  to  the  quarries?" 

"  I  know  nothing  about  the  place.  We  have 
driven  about  a  little,  but  you  may  fancy  that  old 
Mrs.  Este's  charioteer  is  no  Jehu.  The  least  jolt 
shakes  her  to  pieces." 

They  entered  the  woods,  which  the  sun,  still  less 
than  an  hour  high,  filled  with  curious  effects  of  light  : 
here  and  there  night  seemed  still  to  hold  its  own  in 
the  heavy  shadows,  and  again  drops  of  dew  on  the 
shining  leaves  caught  the  low  beams  and  blazed  like 
jewels,  while  from  every  thicket  came  vibrating 
flashes  of  prismatic  radiance. 

'  '  The  earliest  pipe  of  half-awakened  birds  " 
had  not  yet  wholly  died  away.     On  every  side  were 


172  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

heard  the  confused  beginnings  of  their  daily  toil. 
They  were  in  incessant  motion,  darting  hither  and 
thither,  and  seeming  to  put  a  breeze  into  the  leaves 
of  the  oaks  and  beeches,  keeping  up  all  the  time  a 
light-hearted,  and  not  unmusical,  twittering. 

The  situation  roused  a  feeling  not  unlike  pain  in 
Medhurst,  —  a  presentiment  that  something  was 
gone  from  him  forever.  As  they  walked  on  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  wood,  every  now  and  then  push- 
ing aside  the  green  sprays  which,  in  their  unpruned 
luxuriance  of  June  growth,  met  across  the  path, 
enclosing  the  two  constantly  in  a  little  world  of 
radiant  green  all  their  own,  —  he  could  not  help  try- 
ing to  call  up  a  fragment  of  the  feeling  he  would 
have  had  years  before  alone  in  such  a  scene  with 
Fanny.  To  be  with  her  then,  out  of  sight  and  hear- 
ing of  others,  had  been  a  reason  for  pure  ecstasy. 
Once  they  halted  for  a  moment  and  sat  down  on  the 
trunk  of  a  tree  to  watch  a  gray  rabbit  nibbling  a 
clover-blossom  in  the  distance,  and  they  could  smell 
the  fresh  fragrance  of  some  hidden  flowers  ;  while  a 
ray  of  sunlight,  piercing  through  the  maples,  lit  up 
the  mosses  and  lichens  at  the  foot  of  a  great  oak. 
A  soft  air  stirred  in  the  boughs  above,  parting  the 
upper  branches,  and  giving  glimpses  of  soft,  fleecy 
clouds  sailing  across  the  azure.  A  thrush  began  to 
sing,  not  six  yards  away  ;  they  could  see  his  throat 
swell  as  the  song  burst  forth,  — then  came  his  pro- 
longed sweet  call  to  his  mate.  In  the  old  time 
Fanny's  presence  would  have  been  a  matter  of 
richer  import  to  him  than  the  beauty  of  the  morn- 
ing ;  but  now  a  feeling  of  intense  joy  in  the  simple 
fact  of  living  had  nothing  to  do  with  her  at  all. 


A  MORNING.  WALK.  173 

Once  or  twice  some  exclamation  almost  burst  from 
his  lips,  but  he  repressed  it.  He  knew  she  could  invent 
a  good  phrase,  but  he  did  not  care  for  phrases.  With- 
out thought  or  volition  of  his  own  a  wonder  floated 
to  his  mind  whether  Cecil  Haxtoun  had  ever  been 
here  in  the  early  morning.  Cecil  would  care  more 
for  it  than  this  clever,  trained  woman,  who  sat  at 
his  side,  talking  occasionally  with  a  gentle  languor 
which  left  him  unmoved. 

"  Let  us  go  on,"  she  said,  presently.  "  It  is  horri- 
bly damp  here."  She  held  up  a  little  French  shoe. 
"I  put  on  my  thickest  boots,"  she  added;  "but 
they  do  not  withstand  this  soaked  mould." 

"  I  had  forgotten,"  Medhurst  exclaimed,  starting 
up.  "  We  will  go  on.  It  is  well  to  be  a  little 
careful  here,"  he  added,  as  they  took  the  path  again. 
"The  banks  of  this  brook  are  rather  treacherous." 
He  helped  her  across  the  narrow  water-course  which 
wound  through  the  elders  and  hazels.  She  did  not 
let  go  his  arm  after  they  were  over,  but  held  on  to 
it,  and  looked  up  into  his  face. 

"  Have  I  not  heard,"  said  she,  "  that  a  witch 
loses  her  power  to  charm,  if  she  crosses  running 
water?" 

"  Ah,  you  tremble  for  yours,  do  you?  " 

"  I  had  lost  it  before,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  differ- 
ent tone  from  that  she  had  used  hitherto.  "  I  am  no 
witch  where  you  are  concerned,  Frank." 

The  ferns  had  grown  so  tall  on  either  hand  that 
to  push  their  way  along  the  path  had  now  become 
difficult.  He  had  no  choice  but  to  drop  her  hand 
from  his  arm,  and  to  lead  the  way  along  the  narrow, 
winding  path,  green  with  moss,  strewn  with  leaves, 


174  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

and  lighted  by  but  few  glimpses  of  the  outer  radi- 
ance, through  the  almost  impenetrable  thicket.  Pres- 
ently they  emerged  into  a  cleared  opening,  where 
they  found  the  sward  dotted  with  solemn  young 
robins,  abroad  for  their  breakfast,  and  a  little  beyond 
the  last  borders  of  the  wood  rose  the  jagged  cliffs 
of  a  quarry.  It  opened  towards  the  south,  and 
Medhurst  and  Mrs.  Dalton,  a  little  chilled  by  their 
long  walk  through  the  shadows  of  the  wood,  went 
towards  a  sunny  corner  and  sat  down.  The  clear 
blow  of  a  hammer  rang  cheerily  through  the  wide 
silences  of  the  early  morning. 

"  Somebody  searching  for  fossils,  I  fancy,"  said 
Medhurst. 

"  I  have  heard  of  rocks  which  disclosed  the  tropi- 
cal flowers  of  a  former  period,"  said  Fanny  ;  "  but, 
after  meeting  you,  I  doubt  the  truth  of  such  tra- 
ditions." 

"Do  I  seem  dull  to  you,  Fanny?"  asked  Med- 
hurst, as  if  suddenly  waking  up. 

"  Dull  is  hardly  the  word." 

"  Well,  forgive  me.  But,  then,  consider  what  life- 
less days  I  spend.  I  go  to  bed  too  late  to  be  ready 
to  wake  early,  and  as  soon  as  I  have  dressed  and 
breakfasted  I  am  at  the  desk  again.  And  such  a 
task  !  Not  arduous,  —  not  demanding  any  of  my 
actual  powers,  —  but  stupefying,  depressing,  end- 
less, giving  me  perpetual  nightmares  of  mountains 
piled  above  me.  From  seven  till  nine  in  the  even- 
ing I  have  a  little  respite,  but  it  is  not  often  I  can 
escape  from  my  bondage.  Some  petty,  persistent 
thought  is  apt  to  goad  me  incessantly,  so  that  I  am 
glad  to  be  back  at  my  work  again." 


A  MORNINQ  WALK.  175 

"  What  sort  of  a  persistent  thought?"  demanded 
Fanny. 

"  Sometimes  a  mere  quibble,  —  conflicting  authori- 
ties or  the  like ;  again,  the  thought  that,  as  a  man 
who  wants  to  do  honest  work,  I  have  no  right  to  be 
here  ;  that  I  ought  either  to  accept  my  task  or  reject 
it.  I  feel  often  like  a  hypocrite  of  hypocrites.  A 
wave  of  shame  and  regret  rushes  over  me,  and  I 
long  to  be  free  of  it.  But  then  I  have  a  sort  of 
pity  for  Mr.  Haxtoun.  I  reflect  that  few  men  are  so 
fortunate  as  to  be  in  absolute  sympathy  with  their 
masters.  Mine  is  satisfied  with  me  ;  accordingly  I 
plod  along  as  best  I  can.  I  accepted  the  service  for 
money,  and  I  get  my  wages.  You  see  what  delight- 
ful problems  of  life  mine  are.  I  don't  revolve  fine, 
abstract  questions  ;  I  simply  shoulder  the  incubus  of 
this  terrible  book,  and  try  to  carry  it  as  best  I  may." 

Fannie  had  listened  to  him  with  little  change  of 
face  ;  but,  in  spite  of  her  effort  to  hold  her  features 
to  their  former  look  of  caressing  entreaty,  a  peculiar 
and  indefinable  difference  of  expression  came  into 
her  lips  and  eyes.  She  seemed  surprised,  and  the 
feeling  was  entirely  ingenuous ;  she  was  surprised 
to  find  how  little  she  counted  for  in  Medhurst's 
mental  world.  Rodney  Heriot  had  told  her  of  Med- 
hurst's allusion  to  a  time  in  his  life,  six  years  before, 
and  she  had  unhesitatingly  accepted  it  as  clear  proof 
that  her  old  dominion  was  waiting  to  be  reestablished. 
Her  first  ardent  lover  is  never  forgotten  by  any 
woman,  and  his  promises  are  the  gauge  for  other 
men's  performances,  and  his  vows  the  test  of  their 
constancy.  She  had  felt  certain  that  Medhurst 
would  always  continue  to  love  her.  There  are  cer- 


176  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

tain  beliefs  in  the  world  that  are  accepted  without 
comparison  with  actual  data ;  and  one  is,  that  first 
love  is  one  of  the  three  great  experiences  of  life  : 
first,  birth,  then  love,  then  death.  Fanny  recalled 
this  to  her  mind  now,  and  said  to  herself  that 
Medhurst  must  be  acting  this  indifference ;  that 
he  was  still  angry  with  her ;  that  not  even  her  pres- 
ent widowhood  had  taken  the  sting  out  of  the 
wound  she  had  given  his  pride.  She  regained  her 
self-command  with  a  little  exultation.  For  a  mo- 
ment everything  had  been  slipping  away  from  her. 
She  had  felt  old,  loveless,  and  lonely.  Everything 
had  failed.  She  had  had  a  bitter  sense  of  the  hu- 
miliating tragedy  of  her  married  life,  which  she  did 
not  often  look  in  the  face  ;  of  her  uncertain  position  ; 
of  her  frieudlessness.  But,  when  she  assured  her- 
self that  he  was  merely  carrying  out  a  part  his  pride 
had  imposed  upon  him,  the  pendulum  swung  back. 
Medhurst  had  been  looking  at  Fanny,  and  had  won- 
dered why  her  eyes  shone  with  such  strange  brill- 
iancy, and  why  her  cheeks  and  lips  had  grown  pale  ; 
but  even  while  he  was  pondering  the  question  she 
all  at  once  resumed  her  usual  expression. 

"  I  have  been  boringyou,"  he  exclaimed.  "There 
is  nothing  very  exciting  or  picturesque  about  my 
troubles." 

"  I  am  interested  in  everything  about  you,"  she 
said,  with  considerable  intensity.  "  Cannot  you 
imagine  what  it  is  to  hear  you  talk  again,  —  how  it 
brings  back  all  my  lost  and  happy  time  ?  I  cannot 
help  wondering  what  sort  of  feelings  are  reawakened 
in  you,  seeing  me  again."  She  had  fastened  her 
eyes  on  his.  He  could  not  avert  his  own. 


A  MORNING   WALK.  177 

"  I  could  hardly  tell  you,"  he  returned,  speaking 
as  if  under  the  pressure  of  necessity. 

"When  you  heard  I  was  here  your  feeling  was 
not  one  of  pure  pleasure." 

"  Very  far  from  it !  " 

"  You  hated  me  still  for  waking  you  from  that  old, 
enthusiastic  dream,  and  substituting  a  rankling  dis- 
appointment." 

"  Do  not  fancy  that,"  cried  Medhurst.  "  As  I 
told  you  then,  I  never  wanted  you  to  feel  that  you 
had  done  wrong.  I  wanted  you  to  choose  your  own 
life.  It  seemed  to  me  at  the  time  you  were  making, 
a  mistake.  I  believed  in  my  own  powers,  and  could 
not  have  accepted  anybody's  prediction  that  I  was  to 
be  thwarted  and  humiliated  at  every  turn.  After- 
wards, when  repeated  hard  knocks  had  told  me  the 
prizes  of  life  were  not  to  be  secured  too  easily,  I 
began  to  be  thankful  that  you,  at  least,  had  been 
shrewd  and  clear-sighted.  I  was  glad  I  had  not 
pulled  you  down  into  the  mire  with  me." 

She  had  grown  pale  again.  She  bit  her  lip,  and 
something  sweet,  sad,  and  supplicating  had  come 
into  her  face. 

"  That  was  the  way  you  thought  of  me  then, — 
you  were  glad  I  was  not  encumbering  your  way ; 
that "  — 

"  Do  not  misunderstand  me,  Fanny,"  interrupted 
Medhurst,  touched  to  the  quick. 

' '  But  that  is  what  you  said.  You  rejoiced  that 
you  were  free  of  me." 

"  Just  think  of  what  you  had  been  to  me  all  the 
time  I  was  growing  up.  You  were  my  first  inspira- 
tion, —  I  might  say  my  last ;  for  Heaven  knows  no 


178  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

star  has  shone  for  me  since.  From  the  time  I  was 
a  little  fellow  of  twelve,  and  you  used  to  come  to 
Uncle  Tom's,  you  were  to  me  like  nobody  else  in  the 
world.  You  were  so  tall  and  slim  ;  your  curls  were 
so  bright,  your  eyes  so  radiant,  you  were  Venus 
and  Helen,  Athene  and  Diana,  to  me.  I  never 
read  a  verse  of  poetry  about  girl,  woman,  or  god- 
dess, but  that  it  brought  up  the  thought  of  you. 
In  fact,  poetry  and  romance  seemed  to  have  been 
created  to  describe  you,  since  no  every-day  speech 
could  do  it.  That  was  when  I  was  a  little  fel- 
low, whom  you  used  to  order  about,  cajole,  com- 
mand, deride.  By  the  time  I  was  seventeen  you 
took  notice  of  me.  I  was  tall  enough  to  give  you  my 
arm.  I  had  wit  enough  to  make  you  willing  to  talk 
to  me.  Good  heavens,  what  folly  I  used  to  pour 
out !  I  have  often  told  myself  since  that  unless  you 
had  loved  me  a  little  you  could  not  have  borne  it." 
"  I  did  love  you  more  than  a  little,  Frank." 
"We  are  cousins,  you  say;  it  was  quite  proper 
you  should.  But  a  girl's  little  farthing  rushlight  of 
feeling  does  not  light  life  for  her  like  a  man's  great 
sun  of  love.  "We  were  engaged  almost  five  years. 
I  do  not  suppose  there  were  many  waking  moments 
of  that  time  when  the  suggestion  of  you  did  not 
underlie  every  thought,  word,  and  act  of  mine.  It 
was  not  alone  in  the  softer  ways  of  love,  but  you 
were  at  the  root  of  all  my  ambition ;  all  the  practical 
details  of  life,  besides  all  the  poetry  and  romance, 
meant  you.  And  you  say  I  told  you  I  rejoiced  to 
be  free  of  you.  At  this  moment  I  feel  sorry  for 
myself,  Fanny,  when  I  think  how  I  suffered  and 
longed  for  you," 


A  MORNING    WALK.  179 

"  Still  you  were  glad  I  had  married  somebody 
else." 

"  I  was  glad  you  had  made  your  choice,  and 
were  happy.  I  said  to  myself  you  would  have  been 
miserable  sharing  my  lot." 

"  I  was  miserable  enough  in  my  own  life." 

"I  would  rather  believe  you  were  happy.  I 
would,  indeed.  You  had  cost  me  a  terrible  price, 
and  I  should  prefer  to  believe  you  got  something 
for  it." 

"I  don't  believe  there  was  a  day  in  all  those 
three  years  when  I  did  not,  in  some  way,  frame  the 
thought,  '  If  I  had  married  Frank  this  would  never 
have  been ! ' ' 

' '  Was  he  cruel  to  you  ?  " 

"Cruel?  No,  if  by  cruelty  you  mean  that  he 
struck  me,  or  spoke  brutally.  He  simply  lived  in 
one  world,  and  let  me  "go  my  own  way  in  another. 
He  wanted  none  of  my  interest  and  sympathy  in  his 
private  life,  and  after  one  glimpse  into  it  I  shut  the 
door  upon  it,  and  never  asked  a  question,  and 
tried  never  to  think  of  what  I  had  seen." 

"  Do  you  mean  he  was  untrue  to  you?  " 

"No,  —  I  mean  he  was  in  a  position  where  he 
had  to  try  one  makeshift  after  another :  it  was  a 
life  of  tricks,  shufflings,  subterfuges.  "When  I 
found  out  that  he  had  no  actual  means,  that  every- 
thing he  made  was  by  his  stock-gambling,  I  never 
asked  him  for  money.  When  he  had  it  he  gave  it 
to  me  lavishly,  and  I  used  to  loathe  it  then.  After- 
wards, when  I  knew  all "  — 

She  broke  off  ;  her  face  was  dreadful.  Medhurst 
could  not  endure  to  look  at  her.  All  the  youth  had 


180  A   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

gone  shuddering  out  of  her  lips  and  eyes,  and  she 
had  the  look  of  a  fate  which  destroys. 

"  I  ought  never  to  allude  to  it,"  she  said,  with  a 
shiver.  "When  I  wake  up  at  night,  with  old 
thoughts  haunting  me,  I  deaden  them  with  chloral. 
You  see  I  was  not  so  happy  as  you  believed,  Frank. 
If  you  had  known  at  the  time  "  — 

"I  think  I  should  have  gone  mad,"  said  he, 
quickly,  his  face  turned  quite  away.  "  As  you  say, 
you  ought  never  to  allude  to  it." 

The  sun  had  gone  upward  with  great  strides 
while  they  sat  there,  and  was  now  blazing  down 
into  the  quarry ;  but  until  this  moment  they 
had  not  felt  the  discomfort.  They  rose  simulta- 
neously. 

"  I  suppose  we  must  go  back,"  remarked  Fanny, 
"  Must  we  take  that  dismal  way  we  came?  " 

"  There  is  a  path  by  the  water's  edge.  WQ  have 
to  cross  half-a-dozen  fields  to  get  there." 

"  It  is  all  very  well  the  coming  out,"  Fanny  said, 
with  her  usual  easy,  half-mocking  air;  "but  the 
going  back,  bedraggled  and  overheated,  is  quite  a 
different  matter,  —  the  same  difference  as  between 
youth  and  middle  life.  Life  abounds  in  moral 
meanings,  if  one  will  only  accept  them." 

Medhurst  did  not  answer.  The  conversation  had 
taken  a  turn  which  he  thought  unfortunate,  and  he 
accused  himself  of  weakness  in  having  made  con- 
fessions, and  extracted  confessions  in  return.  That 
he  had  simply  followed  Fanny's  lead  was  a  fact  he 
did  not  insist  on  to  himself.  What  he  was  conscious 
of  was  a  certain  blankness  of  emotion  where  Fanny 
was  concerned.  He  had  heard  her  say  she  had  per- 


A  MORNING   WALK.  181 

petually  thought  of  him,  without  a  throb  of  that 
delicious  pain  he  would  have  counted  on  at  such  a 
crisis.  A  certain  deflniteness  of  idea  as  to  where  he 
stands  is  essential  to  a  man's  self-respect ;  he  can- 
not gaze  into  unmapped  country  as  a  woman  can, 
her  imagination  halting  before  its  unknown  barriers 
and  boundaries.  If  he  and  Fanny  were  to  go  on 
exchanging  these  retrospective  emotions  it  seemed 
to  put  him  in  a  position  which  constrained  his  offer- 
ing her  something  more  tangible  for  the  future.  He 
had,  however,  no  wish  to  marry  her  now.  The  idea 
was  inconceivable  to  him.  If  he  had  been  too  poor 
and  hopeless  for  her  to  marry  six  years  before,  he 
was  certainly  too  utterly  poor  and  hopeless  to  have 
become  eligible  after  all  youthful  glamour  had  flatly 
vanished  from  his  landscape,  and  he  saw  nothing 
before  him  save  a  wide,  dull  plain,  which  he  had  to 
cross  somehow. 

They  were  skirting  the  newly  mown  fields,  where 
the  men  were  tossing  open  the  swathes,  which  filled 
the  air  with  a  pleasant  scent.  But  the  charm  of 
the  early  morning  was  quite  gone  ;  no  more  delicate 
shafts  of  light  shot  across  cool,  green,  wet  vistas  of 
bough  and  blossom.  The  birds  still  haunted  the 
quiet  corners  of  the  meadow,  flying  off  as  Medhurst 
and  Mrs.  Dalton  approached,  and  stopping  on  the 
upper  line  of  the  zigzag  fences  until  they  had 
passed.  Presently  the  river  was  in  sight,  and  a  fresh 
breeze  met  their  faces. 

"  Thank  goodness  !  "  exclaimed  Fanny.  "  I  was 
getting  into  a  very  bad  humor,  and  was  beginning 
to  feel  like  scolding  you  for  bringing  me  out,  first 
into  the  wet  wood,  and  afterwards  into  this  fiery 


182  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

furnace.  You  remember,  perhaps,  that  when  I  am 
uncomfortable  I  like  to  make  some  one  suffer." 

"The  rest  of  the  walk  is  pleasanter,"  said  Med- 
hurst,  resolutely  commonplace ;  ' '  and  it  was  my 
fault  that  we  chose  that  path." 

"  I  am  just  the  woman  I  always  was,"  pursued 
Fanny,  —  "always  capricious,  unreasonable,  exact- 
ing. Nothing  in  me  has  changed,  —  nothing.  Are 
you  glad  ?  " 

"Glad?"  said  Medhurst.  "  No  ;  I  regret  it.  I 
wish  you  might  have  grown  better  with  all  your 
experiences." 

' '  How  could  I  ?  What  chance  have  I  had  ?  A 
woman  is  so  weak  unless  she  has  the  support  of  a 
good,  wise  man.  I  never  could  live  a  solitary, 
gloomy  life.  I  cannot  bear  sorrow  and  despair ; 
still  less  can  I  endure  doubt  and  uncertainty.  I  es- 
cape from  them  like  a  frightened  child  from  a  dark 
room.  Any  one  who  offers  me  kindness  and  sympa- 
thy, tenderness  and  affection,  I  am  ready  to  fall  on 
my  knees  before  and  bless." 

She  turned  her  eyes  towards  him,  swimming  with 
tears.  She  was  quite  carried  away  by  the  rush  of 
her  own  feelings. 

"  You  seemed  so  cold  at  first,"  she  went  on,  elo- 
quently, "I  felt  as  if  everything  had  been  swept 
away  from  me.  I  had  been  looking  forward  to  talk- 
ing with  you  frankly,  and  you  —  you  gazed  back  at 
me  critically,  and  seemed  to  be  asking  if  I  were 
sincere." 

"  I  did  not  mistrust  you,  I "  — 

"You  mistrusted  yourself,"  she  said,  eagerly. 
"  You  were  afraid  lest  that  old  feeling  —  sweet,  pow- 


A  MOB  NINO   WALK.  183 

erf  ul,  imperious  —  should  come  back  and  govern  us 
both.  You  might  have  known  yourself,  at  least, 
better,"  she  added,  with  a  little  cry,  which  seemed 
pushed  from  her  by  an  impulse,  sudden  and  irre- 
sistible. 

Medhurst  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead.  His 
heart  was  beating  quickly,  and  he  felt  singularly 
disturbed. 

She  had  stopped  short.  "Tell  me,"  she  now 
said,  holding  out  both  her  hands,  as  if  in  supplica- 
tion, "  tell  me,  Frank,  when  you  stopped  loving  me." 

He  felt  singularly  embarrassed.  His  sensations 
were  so  vague  they  would  have  kept  him  silent,  had 
he  not  felt  bound  to  speak.  He  was  drawn  towards 
Fanny,  and  yet,  at  the  same  moment,  he  felt  angry 
with  her.  She  had  put  him  in  a  position  where  he 
could  hardly  be  candid.  In  fact,  at  this  moment, 
he  was  not  certain  what  the  true  answer  to  her  ques- 
tion would  have  been.  But  she  was  trembling ; 
her  face  was  pale  and  her  eyes  tearful. 

"  Fanny,"  he  said,  coldly  averting  his  eyes,  "  one 
night,  about  a  month  ago,  I  was  on  the  jiver,  and 
the  band  on  the  shore  was  playing  a  waltz,  —  do  you 
remember  the  waltz  Cousin  Rebecca  used  to  play  for 
us  while  we  whirled  about  in  the  twilight  ?  Well,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  night,  I  had  lost  nothing,  forgotten 
nothing  —  I" —  He  broke  off.  Their  eyes  met  once, 
then  he  withdrew  his.  His  own  dislike  of  his  words 
grew ;  for,  while  he  uttered  them,  he  had  no  con- 
sciousness of  their  meaning  in  his  own  heart. 

They  were  now  approaching  Mrs.  Est6's  grounds, 
and  soon  turned  in,  walking  slowly  towards  the 
house. 


184  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  asked,  suddenly  turning 
towards  her,  ' '  that  I  have  written  a  book  ?  " 

"No.     What  book?" 

"  I  brought  you  a  copy,  but  had  so  far  forgotten 
to  give  it  to  you,  or  even  to  allude  to  it.  Here  it  is." 

They  had  reached  the  upper  terrace ;  he  put  a 
little  red  volume  in  her  hands,  lifted  his  hat,  and 
was  off  without  another  word. 


"THE  PLAY'S  THE  THING,"  185 


CHAPTER  XH. 

"THE  PLAT'S  THE  THING." 

"!F,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton  to  Rodney  Heriot,  "you 
were  a  woman  "  — 

"  I  never  wanted  to  be  a  woman,"  put  in  Rodney ; 
"  but,  as  you  see,  I  want  to  be  as  near  a  woman  as 
possible."  He  had  been  walking  up  and  down  the 
square  veranda,  shaded  by  red  awnings,  with  his 
cigarette,  the  remains  of  which  he  now  flung  away, 
while  he  took  a  seat  close  to  the  rattan  lounge, 
where  Mrs.  Dalton  half-sat,  half -reclined,  a  mass  of 
muslin,  lace,  and  pale-green  ribbons. 

"  If,"  she  pursued,  "  you  were  a  woman  like 
me"  — 

"  A  devilish  handsome  woman,  Fanny,  and  a  well- 
dressed  one  ;  and  a  clever  one  besides." 

"Thank  you  !"  She  proceeded —  "and  had  only 
about  a  thousand  dollars,  all  told,  a  lot  of  pretty 
clothes,  and  a  few  jewels,  what  would  you  do?" 

"I  should  wear  my  clothes  and  my  jewels,  and 
visit  my  friends,  until  I  was  better  off." 

"But  if  there  were  no  prospect  of  being  better 
off.  If  you  woke  up  at  night  and  fell  a-crying  at  the 
thought  of  a  day  when  no  kind  friends  might "  — 

"Don't,  Fanny!  That  tone  does  not  suit  you. 
You  can  be  everything  except  pathetic.  You  can 


186  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

domineer  the  world,  fascinate  it,  bewilder  it,  move 
it  to  mirth  and  laughter  ;  but  you  cannot  move  it  to 
tears.  Why  don't  you  marry  ?  " 

' '  Who  wants  to  marry  me  ?  " 

"  I  do.  I  am  dying  to  marry  you  ;  but  my  mother 
forbids.  She  comes  into  my  room  at  night,  and  begs 
me  to  give  up  my  infatuation  for  you." 

"  Then  there  is  no  chance  of  such  good  luck  for 
me,"  remarked  Fanny,  with  her  low  laugh. 

"  How  would  Medhurst  do?  Too  poor,  I  suppose. 
Besides,  he  is  a  good,  ornamental  sort  of  a  lover,  — 
a  proper  kind  of  hero.  It  would  be  a  pity  to  lose  a 
fellow  like  that,  who  will  get  up  at  five  o'clock,  and 
wet  his  boots  and  trousers  brushing  the  dew  from 
off  the  upland  lawns.  Does  he  actually  make  love 
to  you  at  that  time  of  day  ?  " 

"  The  idea  of  anybody's  making  love  before 
breakfast ! " 

"Oh,  a  woman  will,  —  a  woman  will  make  love 
from  sunrise  till  midnight !  She  is  so  absolutely 
unemotional  she  can  afford  to  simmer  in  a  perpetual 
low  boil  of  love-making.  Where  a  man  thinks  of 
love  once,  a  woman  does,  on  an  average,  some  five 
hundred  times.  Did  you  ever  hear  the  story  of  the 
woman  who  did  not  want  to  be  kissed  ?  " 

"  No,  tell  it  to  me." 

"  I  see,  —  you  don't  in  the  least  believe  that  such 
a  woman  ever  existed.  This  belongs  to  the  Eastern 
folk-tales ;  and  folk-tales  are  always  absolutely 
true  to  nature.  A  man  was  once  walking  along  a 
lonesome  road,  with  an  iron  pot  on  his  back,  carry- 
ing in  one  hand  a  live  chicken  by  the  legs,  and  in 
the  other  a  staff,  while  he  led  a  goat  by  a  string. 


"THE   PLArS   THE   THING."  187 

Thus  burdened,  he  was  having  a  hard  time,  and 
kept  wondering  to  himself  how  the  deuce  he  was 
ever  going  to  get  to  his  journey's  end  with  such  a 
load.  Suddenly  a  woman,  who  was  sitting  on  the 
bank,  sprang  up  and  joined  him,  telling  him  she 
was  going  the  same  way,  and  might  as  well  keep 
him  company.  '  All  right,'  said  he  ;  but  he  found  it 
almost  impossible  to  get  strength  to  answer  her 
questions  and  respond  to  her  talk,  which  she  poured 
forth  volubly.  After  a  time,  as  they  went  on,  the 
road  turned  and  went  through  a  dark  and  secluded 
wood.  '  Saints,  defend  me ! '  cried  the  woman, 
uttering  shriek  after  shriek  as  they  entered  the 
place.  'What  in  the  world  is  the  matter?'  de- 
manded the  man.  '  I'm  afraid  if  I  go  any  farther 
into  this  solitary  path,'  said  she,  '  you  may  take 
advantage  of  my  unprotected  condition  and  kiss 
me.'  — '  Kiss  you  ! '  exclaimed  the  man  ;  '  how  in  the 
name  of  the  saints  am  I  to  find  time  to  kiss  a  woman 
while  I  carry  a  pot  on  my  back,  and  a  live  chicken 
in  one  hand,  and  a  staff  and  a  cord  in  the  other? ' 
— '  Oh,  nothing  could  be  easier  ! '  she  explained. 
'  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  plant  your  cane  in  the 
ground,  tie  your  goat  to  it  by  the  string,  lay  your 
pot  on  the  ground,  and  put  the  live  chicken  under 
it,  and  then  you  would  be  quite  free  to  carry  out 
your  wicked  intention  of  kissing  me.' — 'Now 
Heaven  be  praised  for  a  woman's  ingenuity !  I 
should  never  have  thought  of  that,'  said  the  man 
to  himself  ;  and  accordingly  he  at  once  put  the  staff 
in  the  ground,  and  slipped  the  leash  over  it  which 
held  the  goat,  then  gave  the  chicken  to  the  woman 
to  hold  while  he  laid  down  the  pot,  and,  taking  the 


188  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

chicken  from  her,  covered  it  up  closely.  And  at 
last  he  kissed  her." 

"  That  is  an  abominable  story,"  said  Fanny. 
"  That  was  made  by  a  woman-hater." 

"  I  think  it  very  likely.    Most  good  things  were." 

"  Is  it  not  rather  singular  that  men  have  always 
had  their  witty  say  about  women,  and  that  no 
woman  has  yet  recorded  any  really  pointed  satire 
against  men?" 

"  I  always  fancied  that  you  uttered  some  such 
things  about  us  when  you  were  together." 

"  No,  we  don't.  If  a  woman  has  a  tolerably  en- 
durable husband  she  cackles  over  it,  and  a  woman 
with  a  bad  husband  holds  her  tongue,  knowing  very 
well  that  it  would  all  be  considered  her  own  fault. 
Young  girls  say  some  severe  things  against  men ; 
but  that  goes  for  nothing,  as  they  are  entirely  unac- 
quainted with  the  subject." 

"It  seems  a  good  field  for  satire,"  said  Rodney. 
"  Take  a  pretty  woman,  with  a  cool,  critical  way  of 
looking  at  matters, — like  yourself ,  for  instance, — 
she  must  derive  some  amusement  from  our  various 
exhibitions  of  absurdity." 

"I  might  if  I  had  a  good  income.  As  it  is,  I 
have  always  to  be  thinking  about  myself." 

"A  delightful  subject,  certainly." 

"  And  it  now  brings  me  round  to  the  point  where 
I  started  from,  —  what  I  am  to  do.  What,  for  in- 
stance, should  you  think  of  my  going  on  the  stage  ?  " 

Rodney  had  so  far  liked  his  tete-d-tete  with  Mrs. 
Dal  ton  very  well ;  but  he  now  began  to -reflect  that 
if  she  were  about  to  bore  him  he  would  plead  some 
engagement,  and  go  out.  The  reason  he  was  not, 


"THE   PLATES   THE   THING."  189 

as  usual,  spending  his  morning  at  Rosendale  was 
that  Cecil  was  away  for  a  two  days'  visit.  The  time 
dragged  a  little,  and  Mrs.  Dalton  helped  it  on  so  long 
as  she  diverted  him  and  kept  him  from  reflections 
upon  the  absurdity  of  his  being  shut  up  in  a  country- 
house  without  other  resources  than  the  society  of 
people  who  could  not  amuse  him,  and  whom  he  had 
no  desire  to  amuse. 

u  We  are  nowadays  so  highly  civilized,"  he 
now  remarked,  blandly,  "  that  it  is  not  necessary 
for  us  to  do  more  than  indicate  what  has  been 
already  said,  and  will  be  said,  on  every  subject.  For 
an  answer  to  that  question,  Fanny,  I  refer  you  to 
the  first  volume  of  '  Daniel  Deronda.'  " 

"  I  have  read  Herr  Klesmer  on  the  subject  many 
times,"  she  replied  ;  "  and  he  certainly  covers  it  very 
well.  Still,  I  am  something  more  than  a  vain, 
spoiled  child,  like  Gwendolen,  who  had  never  found 
out  that  the  world  did  not  begin  with  her  and  only 
exist  for  her  sake.  Sit  still,  Mr.  Heriot,  and  let 
me  go  through  a  scene  or  two  from  a  play." 

"Here?     Now?" 

' '  Yes  ;  why  not  ?  Nobody  but  the  birds  can  hear 
or  see.  Mrs.  Est6  is  taking  her  bouillon  "  — 

"  She  has  finished,"  called  a  shrill  voice.  "  She 
is  coming  this  instant.  She  has  heard  every  word 
you  have  both  been  saying.  Rodney  knew  I  was 
just  there,"  the  old  lady  went  on,  now  adding  the 
effect  of  her  pretty,  shrivelled  face  to  her  voice. 
"  You  won't  mind  my  hearing  you,  Fanny.  I  have 
seen  all  the  best  actresses.  There  is  something  in 
being  an  old  cat  with  nine  lives,  as  Rodney  calls 
me,  —  she  has  time  to  see  a  good  deal." 


190  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

The  noon  was  warm,  but  a  light  breeze  blew  from 
the  river,  and  they  were  on  the  west  side  of  the 
house,  and  well  screened,  not  only  from  the  light, 
but  from  the  glare  on  the  water.  Just  below  them 
were  flower-beds,  filled  with  masses  of  the  sweetest 
flowers, — tea-roses,  heliotropes,  mignonettes,  and 
alyssums.  The  bees  murmured  among  them  busily 
and  greedily,  and  now  and  then  the  whir  of  a  hum- 
ming-bird's wing  was  heard  as  it  poised  itself  in 
mid-air,  and  sipped  with  its  long,  slender  bill  from 
the  heart  of  the  rose. 

Mrs.  Est6  took  her  seat  in  a  long  reclining-chair, 
which  Fanny  indicated  for  her  use,  and  raised  a 
parasol,  unfurled  a  fan,  and  opened  the  stopper  of 
a  vinaigrette.  She  was  never  without  some  of  these 
appurtenances,  which  she  used  partly  as  protectors 
and  barriers,  and  partly  to  hide  her  incessant 
drowsiness.  Having  arranged  her  audience,  Fanny, 
who  had  hitherto  been  a  shapeless  mass  of  furbe- 
lows, surmounted  by  a  blonde  frizzle-pate,  and  a 
sparkling  face  lighted  by  a  pair  of  bright  eyes,  rose 
and  crossed  the  veranda.  Rodney  looked  at  her  with 
some  brightening  of  curiosity.  Her  long  white 
muslin  gown  swept  the  floor  with  a  grace  of  its  own  ; 
the  perfect  line  from  the  point  of  the  train  to  the 
shoulder  was  just  sufficiently  broken  by  the  pale 
ribbon  which  bound  the  slender  waist.  When  she 
turned  she  looked  like  a  different  woman  from  what 
she  had  been  five  minutes  before.  Her  dark  eyes 
had  taken  a  strange  brilliancy,  and,  as  if  she  had 
grown  pale,  the  sweetness  and  purity  of  her  beauti- 
ful features  seemed  suddenly  to  be  cut  in  the 
whitest  marble.  She  advanced  a  little,  and,  without 


"THE   PLAY'S   THE   THING"  191 

a  word  of  explanation  or  preamble,  began  reciting 
"  Les  deux  pigeons "  from  the  second  act  of  Adri- 
enne  Lecouvreur,  and  put  into  it  not  a  little  charm 
and  pathos. 

"Bravo,  Fanny!"  said  Rodney.  "That  was 
capitally  done.  Wait  a  moment,  and  let  me  get  the 
book.  I  will  read  Maurice's  part  for  you.  Let  us 
take  the  third  act,  where  Adrienne  discovers  that 
Maurice  is  the  Count  de  Saxe." 

Fanny  had  seen  Bernhardt  again  and  again  in 
this  role,  and  threw  into  it  a  little  of  the  charming 
naturalness  and  the  impassioned  womanliness  of 
that  accomplished  actress. 

"  If  I  could  only  act  up  to  my  part !  "  she  said, 
pausing  and  giving  a  slight  grimace. 

"  Do,  do  !  "  said  Rodney. 

"  '  I  will  be  silent,  —  I  will  be  silent,'  "  she  went 
on.  "  '  How  will  I  imprison  my  joy,  my  pride  ! 
Never  will  I  boast  of  your  love  or  your  glory.  I 
will  only  admire  you  openly,  like  the  rest  of  the 
world !  Others  shall  celebrate  your  exploits,  but 
you  shall  relate  them  to  me.  They  shall  proclaim 
your  grandeur,  your  titles,  but  you  shall  confide  to 
me  your  sorrows ' "  — 

They  went  through  the  scene. 

"Do  I  do  it  pretty  well?"  Fanny  asked,  with 
apparent  nervousness. 

"O  Lord,  yes!  Too  well.  You  would  alarm 
me  by  your  talent  except  that  I  know  you  have 
stolen  the  art  from  Bernhardt." 

"  Try  me  in  La  Dame  aux  Camillas,  in  the  scene 
with  Duval,"  said  Fanny. 

Rodney  obyeed  with  alacrity,  and,  under  the  influ- 


192  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

ence  of  a  charming  surprise,  Mrs.  Este"  gave  little 
bursts  of  admiration.  She  shrieked  softly ;  she 
wept,  or  at  least  dabbled  her  handkerchief  in  her 
eyes ;  and,  when  they  tried  Frou-Frou,  Fanny's 
success  seemed  insured. 

"But,  after  all,"  declared  Fanny,  "I'm  best  in 
comedy.  I'll  show  you  Lady  Teazle."  And  she 
went  through  a  scene  with  sharp  relish  of  every 
word  in  the  Ibrilliaut  dialogue  and  a  peculiar,  arch, 
piquant  charm.  "  There  !  "  said  she,  "  have  I  any 
genius  ?  Point  out  my  defects  ;  but  let  me  know  if 
you  think  I  have  any  genius." 

"  Hang  it,  Fanny,  nobody  has  got  any  genius 
nowadays !  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  on  the  stage  unless  I  can  be 
successful.  Balzac  said  he  wanted  his  tragedy  to 
become  the  breviary  of  kings  and  peoples.  I  want 
to  make  people  happy  and  to  make  them  miserable,  — 
to  send  women  home  in  tears,  and  men  with  a  feel- 
ing that  for  once  they  have  realized  what  Romeo 
felt  for  Juliet,  what  Antony  for  Cleopatra." 

"  You  are  tolerably  ambitious,  certainly." 

"  Life  has  become  so  mechanical, — so  passion- 
less !  Literature  no  longer  moves  people.  The  stage 
is  all  that  remains  to  show  men  and  women  the  ideal." 

"  Heaven  help  us  then  !  " 

"  But  have  I  genius?" 

"  You  certainly  did  those  things  very  well." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  that  there  are  all  sorts  of  diffi- 
culties to  overcome ;  but,  with  a  little  hope  aud 
help,  they  need  not  inspire  despair.  But  tell  me 
what  you  think.  I  want  to  carry  the  world  before 
me  or  else  keep  on  in  private  life." 


"THE  PLAY'S   THE   THING."  193 

Rodney  looked  at  her  with  an  indefinable  smile. 

"  You  want  success,"  said  he,  "  when  you  should 
desire  the  rewards  art  can  give  you." 

"  I  want  money,  and  I  want  glory." 

"  You  may  be  able  to  get  both.  You  may  succeed 
in  attaining  neither,  but  pass  your  life  in  feeling 
thwarted  desires,  miserable  jealousies,  cruel  pangs 
of  disappointment.  Who  knows  ?  " 

• '  How  unsatisfactory  you  are  !  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  be?  Haven't  I  tried  every- 
thing, and  failed?  I  have  always  had  two  frantic 
desires,  —  one  was  to  achieve  something  ;  the  other 
was  to  be  loved  devotedly.  But  nothing  ever  satis- 
fied me  yet.  How  should  I  be  eager  to  congratulate 
others  on  a  full  meal,  when  my  table  is  empty  and 
bare?  Suppose  we  have  a  play  here?  That  will 
test  you  a  little.  It  will,  besides,  be  an  occupation. 
You  would  not  mind,  little  mamma?" 

"  Mind?  Not  at  all.  We  had  a  play  once  in  the 
picture-gallery,  years  ago,  —  the  '  Loan  of  a  Lover,' 
—  and  I  was  Gertrude.  I  wore  a  short  frock  and 
sang  '  To-morrow  will  be  market-day,'  and  danced 
all  about  the  stage." 

"  Oh,  we  will  have  a  play  !  "  said  Rodney,  who  was 
thoroughly  alive.  "  We  will  have  a  pretty  stage  ;  it 
shall  be  well  set,  and  a  manager  shall  come  from  New 
York  to  put  the  awkward  ones  like  me  through  their 
paces.  I  will  paint  the  scenes." 

' '  But  what  shall  the  play  be  ?  That  is  always 
the  question." 

u  It  hardly  need  be,  with  you  to  be  leading 
lady,"  said  Mrs.  Este. 

"  Nobody  wants    a    one-part  play    for    private 


194  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

theatricals.  The  better  the  parts,  the  better  the 
acting  generally.  It  needs  an  artist  to  find  out  the 
capabilities  of  a  poor  role.  Besides,  you  will  want 
Miss  Haxtoun  to  have  some  fitting  opportunity." 

"Oh,  yes,  Cecil  must  have  a  charming  part!" 
said  Mrs.  Este". 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Rodney,  reluctantly.  "  I 
am  not  so  sure  Mrs.  Haxtoun  would  wish  her  to  act. 
I  am  not  certain,  in  fact,  that  she  could  act." 

"Act?"  said  Fanny.  "I  assure  you  she  will 
act  admirably.  She  is  not  in  the  least  an  artist; 
but  she  has  impetuosity,  petulance,  and  is  capable 
of  lively  impressions  and  fancies.  Should  you  not 
like  to  see  her  act?" 

"  On  the  stage  before  a  crowd?  —  no." 

"  I  remember  hearing  once  of  a  French  nobleman 
who  was  prodigiously  in  love  with  his  young  wife. 
One  night  she  came  down  dressed  for  a  ball,  and  he 
surveyed  her  with  admiration,  but  then  began  pulling 
her  gown  to  pieces.  She  was  so  ravishing  in  that  ball- 
dress  he  declared  no  other  man  should  look  at  her." 

Rodney  apparently  paid  no  attention,  and  at  his 
successful  air  of  indifference  Mrs.  Est6  nodded 
with  feminine  sagacity  to  Fanny,  who  returned  her 
look.  A  few  weeks  before  Rodney  had  been  willing 
enough  to  talk  about  Cecil,  admiring,  criticising,  dis- 
cussing, with  an  absence  of  sentiment  disheartening 
to  his  mother,  who  wanted  him  to  fall  in  love. 

"What  play  shall  we  have?"  he  now  asked, 
rather  impatiently. 

"  We  might  consult  Frank  Medhurst,"  said  Fanny. 
"  He  has  surprised  me  by  writing  a  novel,  —  perhaps 
he  has  written  a  play." 


"  THE  PLAY'S   THE   THING."  195 

"What  novel?" 

"  It  lies  over  there,  on  the  bench." 

Rodney  reached  out  and  took  the  little  red 
volume. 

"'Bettering  Opportunity,'"  he  read  aloud. 
"  What  a  name  !  " 

"  The  novel  is  not  so  bad." 

"I  don't  like  American  novels  myself.  I  know 
they  are  the  fashion,  and  that  they  are  remarkably 
clever ;  but  their  realism  is  so  meagre  and  crude ! 
They  are  always  giving  provincial  people's  first 
impressions  of  things,  like  the  ecstasies  of  a  man 
whose  diet  has  hitherto  been  hasty-pudding,  but  is 
all  at  once  initiated  into  the  refinements  of  the 
comfortable  dinner  well-to-do  people  have  been 
eating  for  centuries.  The  writers  take  the  tone  of 
men  of  the  world,  but  all  the  time  they  are  naive  as 
school-boys.  They  are  afraid  of  strong  emotions, 
and  accept  mere  symbols  in  place  of  the  realities  of 
life.  But  I  shall  read  this.  Medhurst  interests  me. 
I  have  not  yet  taken  his  measure,  but  now  I  have 
him  at  my  mercy.  '  Oh  that  mine  adversary  had 
written  a  book  !  *  What  is  this  about?" 

"  The  hero  is  a  young  man  who  is  sent  from  a 
Puritan  home  to  make  his  living  in  New  York.  The 
city  first  fascinates  him  with  its  splendors  and  its  mys- 
teries ;  then,  when  he  begins  to  know  the  life  better, 
and  finds  out  its  wickedness,  its  cynical  views,  its 
low  aims,  he  is  filled  with  horror  and  disgust.  It  is 
only  because  he  has  positively  no  opening  anywhere 
else  that  he  can  be  induced  to  remain.  But  all  the 
while  his  knowledge  of  the  business  he  has  entered 
has  been  growing,  and  with  his  increasing  powers  he 


196  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

finds  a  powerful  attraction  in  its  methods  and 
subtleties.  He  attracts  the  attention  of  the  leading 
manager  of  the  firm, — a  brilliant,  unscrupulous 
financier,  —  who  further  initiates  him  into  the  neces- 
sary processes  for  making  money.  His  first  moral 
aversion  is  overcome,  and  presently  he  finds  himself 
in  the  vortex  he  began  by  loathing.  His  will  never 
quite  consents,  but"  — 

"  Then  comes  the  guardian  angel  of  his  life.  Just 
as  he  is  lost  he  is  saved.  Love,  explanations, 
affecting  situations,  separation,  reunion,  marriage, 
—  I  see,"  said  Rodney.  "  I  will  begin  after  the  vir- 
tuous young  man  has  fallen.  The  regeneration  of 
a  sinner  is  such  a  warning  example." 

' '  I  wonder  if  the  book  will  bring  Frank  any 
money,"  said  Fanny. 

"I  suppose  it  will  depend  entirely  upon  whether 
people  buy  it  or  not.  Did  you  buy  this  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  did  not.  Who  ever  buys  a  book 
written  by  an  acquaintance?  One  expects  to  get 
hold  of  it  in  some  cheaper  way." 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Estd.  "Mr.  Medhurst 
has  been  entertained  here ;  he  ought  to  send  me  a 
copy." 

Rodney  burst  into  the  loud  laughter  habitual  when 
he  heard  anything  which  seemed  to  him  particularly 
characteristic. 

"It  is  the  most  fortunate  thing  for  the  world  in 
general,"  said  he,  "that  genius  is  a  refractory  and 
imperious  power,  and  urges  men  on  to  wreak 
their  force  and  spend  their  inspiration  upon  what 
will  barely  give  them  a  living.  Nothing  but  genius 
has  saved  the  world  so  far,  and  nothing  but  genius 


"THE  PLAY'S    TEE   THING."          197 

will  continue  to  save  the  world,  from  its  baseness, 
hypocrisy,  and  affectations.  I  don't  suppose  Med- 
hurst  has  genius ;  nobody  seems  to  have  it  any 
longer.  Once  men  wrote,  painted,  acted,  with  the 
passions  which  possessed  them ;  nowadays  they 
write,  paint,  and  act  with  the  phantasmal  likeness 
of  the  passions  they  have  heard  of.  But  I  suppose 
some  irresistible  impulse  urged  him  to  write  his 
experience  out  in  this  way." 

"  You  may  be  sure  he  wanted  a  little  money  by 
it,  Rodney,"  said  Mrs.  Est£.  "Everybody  does 
everything  for  money  nowadays." 

"No,  they  don't.  Women  marry  for  money,  I 
know,  and  men  accept  the  grossest  materialism  as 
the  rule  of  their  lives.  But  good,  honest,  fair  work 
is  never  done  for  money,  and  for  money  alone. 
Don't  you  suppose  Medhurst  might  have  done  some- 
thing more  lucrative  than  write  books  to  amuse 

you?" 

"Why  did  he  not  do  it  then?"  asked  Fanny; 
"  he  hates  his  own  poverty  badly  enough." 

"  He  will  do  something  yet  to  make  money. 
Don't  be  afraid  of  being  poor,  Fanny,"  said  Mrs. 
Est£.  "  If  poor  August  was  alive  he  would  give 
him  a  place,  for  your  sake." 

Fanny  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  laughed,  but 
had  the  grace  to  blush  crimson,  nevertheless. 

"  Let  us  talk  about  the  play,"  she  said,  putting 
aside  the  question  of  Medhurst's  ambitions,  achieve- 
ments, and  failures.  She  did  not  feel  annoyed  at 
Mrs.  Est6's  perpetual  allusions  to  him ;  on  the 
contrary,  she  found  them  useful.  It  was  very  con- 
venient to  have  the  old  lady's  insight  directed 


198  A   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

towards  the  intricacies  of  a  love-affair  that  ex- 
isted only  in  imagination.  Her  intercourse  with 
Rodney  Heriot  was  infused  this  year  with  a  new 
element,  which  seemed  altogether  propitious.  He 
was  less  brilliant  than  formerly,  but  he  was  more 
sympathetic.  Just  at  present  she  found  his  eyes 
resting  on  her. 

"  I  wrote  a  play  once,  which  went  off  with  some 
success  at  Mrs.  O'Hara's,"  he  remarked.  "  The 
part  which  Mrs.  O'Hara  took  would  suit  you  very 
well." 

' '  What  have  you  not  done  ?  The  idea  of  your 
writing  a  play  !  " 

"  I  hardly  think  it  will  dazzle  you ;  but  we  might 
look  at  it,  and  see  if  it  would  do." 

Rodney  went  to  his  room  and  rummaged  for  an 
hour,  and  returned  with  a  voluminous  manuscript. 
Fanny  had  had  time  in  his  absence  to  reflect  that  it 
might  prove  awkward  if  s.he  were  to  dislike  the  play. 
She  had  never  received  the  happiest  impression  of 
amateur  work.  But,  after  some  reflection,  she  de- 
termined to  like  this  immensely,  to  be  delighted 
with  it,  to  make  it,  if  it  lay  in  her  power,  a  great 
success. 


"A   WOMAN'S  BEASON."  v  199 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"A  WOMAN'S  REASON." 

hardly  knew  herself  in  these  times.  There 
were  hours  in  the  day  when  the  mere  sense  of 
living  seemed  to  bring  with  it  a  feeling  of  intoxi- 
cation ;  when  she  felt  inspired  by  a  happiness  that 
answered  all  her  needs,  and  solved  all  her  prob- 
lems ;  but  more  often  she  suffered  from  restlessness, 
from  a  disenchantment,  from  a  conviction  of  the 
worthlessness  of  things.  She  was  torn  by  con- 
flicting impulses,  all  of  which  were  restrained  by 
a  galling  self-consciousness.  It  was  the  first  time 
she  had  had  this  painful  admixture  of  feeling, 
and  it  chained  and  imprisoned  her.  It  seemed 
impossible  to  do  anything  brightly  and  spontane- 
ously. It  was  no  longer  easy  to  throw  her  arms 
about  her  father's  neck,  and  press  her  blooming 
young  cheek  against  his  withered  one,  kissing  and 
fondling  him  until  he  plaintively  begged  her  to  de- 
sist. As  to  her  mother,  she  feared  her  eyes,  and 
found  something  to  rebel  against  in  the  very  sound 
of  her  voice.  She  was  proud  and  reserved  with  her 
cousin  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  and  Alec  seemed 
to  her  self-centred  and  trivial.  Alec  was  in  the 
habit,  too,  of  talking  about  Mrs.  Dalton,  and  could 
expand  endlessly  on  the  theme  of  her  perfections, 
all  of  which  were  already  engraven  on  Cecil's  heart 


200  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

and  brain.  Some  influence  made  her  at  once  too 
tender  and  too  hard.  She  felt  stiff,  reluctant,  and 
rebellious  against  all  the  surroundings  of  her  life ; 
yet,  at  the  same  time,  she  was  conscious  of  a  soft- 
ness, a  tenderness,  she  had  never  known  before. 
This  is  a  story  as  old  as  nature ;  for  nature  acts 
invariably  in  this  way  on  a  girl's  heart,  —  awakening 
in  her  a  longing,  unfelt  hitherto,  for  love ;  yet  for- 
bidding that  the  intimate  and  the  usual  shall  satisfy 
the  longing. 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  had  not  liked  Cecil's  looks,  nor  the 
abrupt  alternations  of  gayety  and  despondency  in  her 
manner,  and  the  day  after  the  Fourth  of  July  carried 
her  away  for  a  half-week,  but  brought  her  back  at 
the  end  of  that  time  with  a  feeling  that,  if  Cecil  was 
to  fall  ill,  it  would  be  better  for  her  to  be  at  home. 
It  had  all  been  unspeakably  dreary,  although  Mrs. 
Haxtoun  had  spent  more  money  than  she  liked  to 
remember.  They  had  been  to  the  seaside  ;  but  the 
tumult  and  the  glare  had  been  frightful.  The  hotel 
had  been  filled  with  people,  from  whom  Mrs.  Haxtoun 
averted  her  eyes,  and  against  whose  voices  she 
longed  to  close  her  ears.  Even  the  majestic,  infinite 
expanses  of  the  sea  had  seemed  hopelessly  vulgarized 
by  the  foreground  of  dreadful  groups  on  the  beach. 
Cecil  had  looked  at  nothing,  cared  for  nothing,  and 
had  neither  eaten  nor  slept.  Then  they  left  the 
shore  and  spent  a  day  at  a  grand  country-house, 
full  of  guests ;  and  Cecil,  instead  of  being,  as  usual, 
a  little  queen  of  the  revels,  had  hidden  herself  in 
corners,  and  "declined  to  dance,  and,  altogether, 
behaved  in  a  way  to  half-break  her  mother's  heart. 
All  this  would  have  been  very  well,  and  her  heart 


"A  WOMAN'S  REASON."  201 

might  well  have  been  in  the  highlands  a-hunting  the 
deer,  except  that  the  highlands  were  at  present  too 
populous.  Mrs.  Haxtoun  came  back  to  Rosendale 
bold  and  aggressive.  She  was  full}'  determined  now 
that  Medhurst  should  go  away  ;  and,  without  losing 
any  more  time,  intended  to  rouse  Mr.  Haxtoun  to  a 
full  sense  of  the  position. 

Cecil  brightened  a  little  in  coming  home.  She 
had  had  a  vivid  consciousness  all  the  time  she  was 
away  that  much  must  be  going  on,  and  her  mind 
had  been  busy  concerning  the  events  in  progress  in 
her  absence.  Once  in  her  usual  place,  however, 
everything  seemed  stagnant  and  lifeless.  Lilly  had 
nothing  to  tell  her  except  of  Arthur's  comings  and 
goings,  and  that  Alec  spent  all  his  evenings  with 
Mrs.  Dalton.  Concerning  Medhurst  Lilly  was  too 
discreet  to  utter  a  syllable.  Cecil  saw  him  at  table, 
when  he  shook  hands  with  her  mother,  bowed  to 
her,  and  expressed  some  satisfaction  that  they  were 
at  home  again  ;  but  after  that  he  did  not  even  glance 
in  her  direction. 

But  Alec  had  plenty  to  tell  his  sister.  Alec  was 
the  least  impressive  of  talkers  when  he  was  discuss- 
ing general  topics ;  but  he  would  talk  about  himself 
with  a  naive  candor,  and  with  an  occasional  felicity 
of  description,  that  was  a  capital  method  of  com- 
municating what  he  considered  trivial  and  side 
issues.  Now,  for  instance,  he  confided  to  Cecil, 
how,  early  one  morning,  he  had  chanced  to  be  look- 
ing out  of  a  window,  when  he  saw  Mrs.  Dalton  — 
absolutely  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Dalton  —  standing  at 
the  wicket  at  the  end  of  the  garden.  On  such  a 
challenge  as  this  what  should  he  naturally  have 


202  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

done  except  to  jump  hastily  into  his  clothes, 
with  the  intention  of  joining  her?  But,  alas!  just 
as,  after  enduring  a  thousand  petty  obstructions  in 
the  way  of  refractory  buttons  and  braces,  he  had 
surmounted  all  difficulties,  and  was  slipping  in  his 
scarf-pin,  he  took  one  peep  out  the  window  to  make 
sure  of  his  prize,  and  what  should  blast  his  sight 
but  a  glimpse  of  a  straw  hat  just  vaulting  over  the 
fence ;  and  in  another  moment  Medhurst  and  the 
beautiful  widow  turned  into  Mrs.  Esters  woods  and 
vanished. 

"  That  was  the  longest  day  I  ever  passed,"  Alec 
pursued,  in  a  tone  of  deep  indignation.  "  I  did  not 
feel  like  going  to  bed  again,  being  so  thoroughly 
awake,  so  I  went  down  on  the  piazza,  and  waited 
for  the  fellow  to  come  back.  I  give  you  my  word 
he  did  not  get  in  till  half-past  seven ;  he  was  away 
with  her  two  full  hours  ;  but  I  heard  her  say  after- 
wards that  she  detested  early  morning  walks,  early 
morning  doings  of  any  kind,  —  so  that  sounds  as  if  he 
did  not  make  himself  especially  agreeable  to  her." 

"  Oh,  you  cannot  tell !  "  cried  Cecil,  with  a  little 
tremor  in  her  voice.  "She  will  say  anything  for 
effect.  She  has  little  suggestions,  and  phrases,  and 
compliments  which  she  dispenses  around  just  as  we 
do  pictures  and  bric-a-brac,  to  make  something  out 
of  nothing,  to  fill  empty  spaces,  and  give  an  air  of 
attractiveness  to  our  rooms.  She  says  the  same 
thing  over  and  over ;  she  flatters  everybody  to  their 
faces,  —  you  have  heard  her  talk  to  papa  "  — 

"  I  like  a  w\>man  to  make  herself  pleasant,"  said 
Alec.  "You  see,  Cecil,  you  don't  know  the  world, 
and  you  can't  half  appreciate  a  woman  like  that. 


"A   WOMAN'S  REASON."  203 

She  knows  how  to  set  a  man  free,  as  it  were,  from 
his  inexperience  and  awkwardness.  Why,  when  I 
talk,  by  Jove!  she  listens  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  —  a 
Socrates  ;  and  she  not  only  listens,  but  she  leads  me 
on.  I  can  say  more,  I  can  think  more,  with  her  in 
ten  minutes  than  I  ever  did  in  a  day  with  anybody 
else.  She"  — 

"She  is  a  coquette!"  cried  Cecil,  peevishly. 
"She  is  a  wicked,  dangerous  coquette!" 

"  She  is  not  a  coquette  at  all.  I  never  saw  a 
woman  with  so  little  coquetry.  She  is  practical  and 
sensible ;  she  likes  real,  actual  things,  and  if,  now 
and  then,  she  indulges  in  nonsense  and  badinage,  it 
is  just  by  way  of  relief  from  heavier  subjects." 

"  She  is  deep  and  designing,"  murmured  Cecil. 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  see  why  you  should  dislike 
her,"  said  Alec,  in  a  tone  of  excessive  injury. 
"  Heriot  is  not  making  love  to  her.  With  all  his 
advantages  he  keeps  the  coolest  tone,  and  seems 
perfectly  willing  I  should  be  there  all  the  time." 

"  I  do  not  dislike  her  in  the  least,"  Cecil  explained, 
with  some  dignity  ;  "  but  I  confess  I  do  not  like  her. 
She  may  charm  men,  but  women  know  each  other 
better,"  declared  the  young  cynic.  "  As  for  Mr. 
Heriot,  I  think  him  quite  a  match  for  her  in  every 
way.  They  have  lived  in  the  same  world,  they  have 
the  same  manners  and  the  same  tone,  and  have  mas- 
tered the  same  arts." 

"  Oh,  you're  jealous  of  her,  Cecil.     I  see  ! " 

"  Jealous  !    Nothing  of  the  sort." 

"  You  will  not  confess  that  she  is  beautiful." 

"  She  is  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  ever  saw  in 
my  life." 


204  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  That  is  something  like  it.  "What  conld  surpass 
that  red-gold  hair ;  those  dark  eyes  ?  " 

"  Alec,  you  are  infatuated !  " 

"  The  exquisite,  clear-cut  features  ;  the  carnation 
of  the  lips  on  that  beautiful,  pale,  cold  face." 

"  Alec,  you  composed  that  with  a  pencil  and 
paper  in  your  hand,  or  else  you  got  it  out  of  some 
foolish  book." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  she  says  of  me?  " 

"  That  you  are  a  nonsensical  boy." 

"  Indeed,  she  has  never  given  me  the  faintest 
intimation  that  she  considers  me  young.  She  says 
I  am  a  born  actor." 

"  A  born  actor ! "  repeated  Cecil,  in  a  tone  of  in- 
credulity. 

"  You  know  there  is  to  be  a  play." 

"A  play?" 

*'  A  play.     Mrs.  Dalton  is  to  act !  " 

"She  acts  everywhere, — in  the  parlor,  out-of- 
doors  ;  wherever  she  is  she  plays  a  part,  and  it  is 
quite  conceivable  that  she  should  take  natural^  to 
the  stage.  But  what  about  the  play?  Is  it  to  be 
at  Mrs.  Este"'s?" 

' '  Yes  ;  the  picture-gallery  is  to  be  turned  into  a 
theatre." 

"  It  all  seems  to  have  been  decided  on  very 
hastily.  I  heard  nothing  of  it  before  I  went 
away." 

"  They  sent  over  for  Medhurst,  night  before  last, 
to  discuss  the  subject." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Cecil,  in  quite  a  different  voice. 
"  So  Mr.  Medhurst  is  to  be  in  it?" 

"  He  says  not.     He  declares  he  has  no  time.     He 


"A   WOMAN1 8  REASON."  205 

was  asked  to  name  some  suitable  play ;  and  they 
sent  to  New  York  for  a  long  list  of  comedies,  vaude- 
villes, and  farces  which  he  made  out,  but  have 
finally  decided  on  a  play  of  Heriot's." 

"  I  should  never,"  declared  Cecil,  with  a  strange 
accent,  "  have  supposed  that  Mr.  Medhurst  would 
care  about  such  social  follies  and  vanities  as  private 
theatricals." 

"  He  seemed  to  be  chief  adviser.  He  is  a  regular 
literary  fellow.  It  seems  he  has  written  a  novel." 

"A  novel!"  Cecil  repeated,  her  color  changing. 
"What  novel?" 

"  I  have  forgotten  the  name.  They  are  reading  it 
over  there,"  said  Alec,  indicating  Mrs.  Est^'s  house. 
"  They  discuss  it  a  good  deal ;  in  fact,  I  confess,  I 
have  grown  tired  of  the  subject.  Well,  to-night  I 
am  going  over  to  read  Heriot's  play ;  Medhurst  is 
going  too,  and  there  will  be  some  final  decision 
as  to  the  performance." 

"  Am  I  to  be  asked  to  act?  "  asked  Cecil,  in  a 
manner  which  left  it  undecided  whether  she  would 
treat  any  such  invitation  with  cordiality  or  con- 
tempt. 

"  I  don't  know,"  returned  Alec.  "  I  dare  say. 
Nobody  has  mentioned  }"our  name  ;  but  then  "  — 

"Do  not  say  that  I  asked;  do  not  let  anybody 
fane}'  that  I  was  curious  on  the  subject,"  cried 
Cecil. 

Alec  promised  he  would  not  allude  to  her,  in  the 
tone  of  one  for  whom  such  reserve  did  not  involve 
any  self-denial.  In  fact,  Cecil  said  to  herself,  she 
was  quite  unimportant.  Nobody  had  consulted  her  ; 
nobody  had  waited  for  her.  The  "  art  of  keeping 


206  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

things  going,  and  herself  on  top  of  them,"  belonged 
to  Mrs.  Dalton,  and  to  Mrs.  Dalton  alone.  She 
herself  was  far  away  from  the  vortex,  and  would 
not  allow  herself  to  be  drawn  in  by  the  mere  force 
of  the  eddy. 

But  Cecil  had  new  thoughts,  and  was  inspired  by 
fresh  force.  It  was  a  thing,  first,  to  ponder  over, 
that  Medhurst  had  written  a  book ;  and,  in  the 
second  place,  she  must  have  that  book.  Still,  she 
was  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  find  herself  in  posses- 
sion of  it.  She  did  not  even  know  the  name.  She 
remembered  that  the  daily  papers  had  literary 
notices  and  publishers'  advertisements,  which  had 
hitherto  been  matter  to  her  of  no  concern.  Now 
she  undertook  to  look  through  the  "  Ledger,"  "Trib- 
une," and  "Transcript  "for  the  last  month.  This  was, 
in  itself,  an  enterprise  requiring  effort,  patience,  and 
secrecy.  So  far  all  the  undertakings  in  Cecil's  short 
life  had  been  the  theme  of  her  tongue,  —  she  had 
demanded  sympathy,  approbation,  and  applause  at 
every  step.  Now  she  studied  in  every  way  to  avoid 
observation.  -The  papers  were  in  the  library,  and 
the  library  at  this  time  of  the  year  was  used  chiefly 
as  a  thoroughfare  to  the  side-piazza,  where  some 
one  was  generally  sitting.  Accordingly,  to  lay  hands 
upon  and  carry  off,  unseen  and  unsuspected,  some 
fivescore  of  papers,  required  dexterity  and  wit. 
But  difficulties  and  dangers  like  these  could  be  over- 
come. The  real  task  lay  in  finding  time  and 
opportunity  to  search  these  papers  through.  One 
never  could  be  sure  where  the  item  might  be.  Ac- 
cordingty,  lest  it  might  lurk  in  some  secret  corner, 
Cecil  was  compelled  to  go  through  the  sheet  column 


"A   WOMAN'S  SEASON."  207 

by  column.  This  might  have  been  done  if  she 
could  have  ensured  herself  safe  seclusion  in  her 
own  room.  But  Lilly's  little  apartment  opened  out 
of  hers,  and  it  had  been  the  habit  of  their  girlhood 
to  merge  the  two  sleeping-chambers  into  one.  The 
door  was  never  closed,  although  the  chintz  portiere 
might  be  stretched  across  it.  Lilty  had  never  in  her 
life  put  on  a  dress  without  a  few  moments  of 
hesitation  as  to  which  of  them  she  should  choose. 
Every  little  frippery  of  lace,  ruff,  or  ribbon  had  to  be 
talked  over,  compared,  held  up  in  different  lights. 
It  was  not,  perhaps,  that  Lilly  wanted  advice,  but 
that  she  liked  to  give  each  event  of  her  little  life  its 
full  importance ;  and  she  knew  better,  perhaps,  the 
value  of  her  own  opinions  after  hearing  the  im- 
personal views  of  others.  Cecil,  on  her  side,  had 
always  had  plenty  of  reasons  for  looking  in  upon 
her  cousin  at  every  turn  of  her  toilet.  Cecil's  mind 
was  not  so  many-sided  in  the  matter  of  dress  ;  but  it 
was  while  she  was  brushing  her  hair,  or  adjusting  her 
tuckers,  that  vivid,  brilliant,  and  startling  ideas 
assailed  her,  and  she  would  rush  to  the  door  with. 
"O  Lilly  dear,  I  have  the  most  delightful  plan!" 
In  fact,  the  idea  of  any  special  privacy  in  her  own 
room  had  never  occurred  to  either  of  the  young 
girls  ;  and  now  that  Cecil  had  this  herculean  task  of 
looking  up  an  advertisement,  it  may  easily  be  seen 
that  she  had  to  evade  a  pair  of  bright  young  eyes, 
full  of  curiosity,  suspicion,  maliciousness.  Lilly 
soon  discovered  that  something  was  going  on  ;  but, 
on  account  of  the  little  coolness  growing  up  between 
her  and  Cecil,  she  determined  to  use  her  observation, 
instead  of  her  tongue,  in  finding  out  what  this 


208  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

sudden  absorption  in  newspapers  meant.  Three 
times  in  a  single  day  she  surprised  her  cousin  be- 
hind a  great  printed  sheet,  her  eyes  roaming,  intent, 
eager,  dilated,  her  lips  apart.  And  when  she  looked 
up,  and  met  Lilly's  eyes,  there  was  an  unmistakable  in- 
dication of  being  detected  in  something  secret,  almost 
illicit ;  and  she  wore  such  an  unmistakable  air  of  ex- 
citement that  Lilly  exhausted  herself  in  conjecture 
as  to  what  it  all  meant.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  had  a 
key  put  into  her  hand,  but  had  no  idea  into  what 
secret  chambers  it  led.  If  Cecil  found  anything  to 
fascinate,  absorb,  and  kindle  emotion,  in  those  stupid 
papers,  Lilly  felt  that  she  could  do  the  same,  and 
gain  equal  entertainment  of  a  high  order.  Lilly 
could  hardly  wait  for  her  turn  to  come,  and  felt  it  a 
lucky  chance  when  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  at  dinner,  remarked 
that  she  and  her  daughter  were  on  the  point  of  sally- 
ing forth  to  pay  visits  until  tea-time. 

No  sooner  was  the  carriage  out  of  sight  than  Lilly 
flew  up  the  staircase.  Her  impulse  had  always  been 
to  help  herself  to  the  good  things  which  people 
were  too  disobliging  to  offer  her.  Here  were  the 
piles  of  papers  hidden  behind  the  chintz  curtains, 
and  here  was  Lilly,  with  wide-open  eyes,  ready  to 
devour  whatever  they  contained.  For  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  she  felt  on  the  verge  of  some  exciting  discovery  ; 
then  the  occupation  began  to  grow  monotonous.  It 
was  very  vexatious  that  she  had  not  the  key,  after 
all.  She  only  saw  a  closed  door  before  her,  while 
she  grew  every  moment  more  and  more  conscious 
she  had  no  key  whatever  to  fit.  Lilly  began  to 
grow  angry.  The  thought  suggested  itself  that 
Cecil  had  been  playing  her  a  trick  ;  that  she  had  gone 


"A  WOMAN'S  REASON."  209 

elaborately  to  work  to  rouse  her  curiosity,  and  then 
put  obstacles  in  the  way  of  her  satisfying  it.  At 
this  moment,  when  Lilly  was  on  the  verge  of  an 
ebullition  of  wrath,  Cecil  came  in ;  that  is,  she 
opened  the  door,  and,  seeing  Lilly  in  the  window- 
seat,  stopped  short,  turned,  first,  red,  then  pale,  and 
put  on  a  delicately  disdainful  air. 

"  I  thought,"  faltered  Lilly,  "  you  had  gone  to 
pay  visits." 

"  We  met  Cousin  Rebecca  coming  here,  so  we 
turned  back,"  returned  Cecil,  calmly.  "  I  am  very 
sorry  to  interrupt  you,  Lilly.  Pray  go  on,"  she 
added,  with  ironic  politeness. 

"  Seeing  the  papers  here  that  you  were  reading," 
Lilly  returned,  "  I  thought  I  would  sit  down  and 
look  them  over." 

"  Very  dull  reading  I  found  them,"  said  Cecil. 

"  I  never  in  my  life  saw  you  so  excited  over 
anything  as  over  those  papers,"  declared  Lilly,  who 
felt  snubbed  and  extinguished  by  Cecil's  grand 
air.  "  I  wanted  to  see  what  it  was.  I  hate  mysti- 
fications ;  I  hate  concealments ;  I  like  everything 
open,  fair,  and  above  board." 

"  I  see  you  do,"  Cecil  replied,  still  with  something 
exquisite  in  her  dignity.  "  As  to  the  papers," 
she  went  on,  "  pray  carry  them  into  your  own  room, 
and  look  them  over  at  your  leisure.  I  meant  to 
have  rung  for  Martha  to  take  them  away." 

This  was  the  truth,  for  Cecil  had  found  nothing 
about  Medhurst's  book  in  the  papers.  She  might 
have  been  inclined  to  enjoy  the  present  moment, 
when,  without  pressing  the  point  with  obtrusive 
candor,  she  had  still  proved,  with  perfect  clearness, 


210  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

to  Lilly  that  she  had  been  making  a  goose  of  herself. 
But  Cecil  was  preoccupied,  and  knew,  too,  who  had 
been  the  first  goose.  If  she  once  knew  the  name 
of  the  book  it  would  be  a  simple  matter  to  procure  it. 
A  note  to  the  bookseller's,  on  Market  street,  and  up 
it  would  come  by  book -post,  and  she  would  be  on 
the  watch  for  it.  One  unused  expedient  remained, 
and  she  now  made  up  her  mind  to  avail  herself  of  it 
next  day,  first  making  sure  that  she  was  in  no 
danger  of  being  caught  in  the  act.  She  had  already 
searched  the  study,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  a 
novel  there,  and  her  thoughts  now  turned  to  Med- 
hurst's  sleeping  apartment.  She  set  out  to  go  tip- 
toe through  this  room,  with  the  hope  of  finding  the 
book  lying  on  the  table  or  the  shelf.  She  knew  that 
her  mother  and  Lilly  were  both  showing  the  farthest- 
off  flower-beds  to  some  visitors ;  she  could  see  the 
group  from  the  window.  Medhurst  himself  was  in 
the  study,  and  Mr.  Haxtoun  was  walking  up  and 
down  the  terrace  with  a  guest.  The  servants  never 
came  into  this  part  of  the  house  at  this  time  of  the 
day  unless  the  bell  rang  for  them.  In  spite  of  these 
precautions  Cecil  turned  the  door  of  Medhurst's 
room  with  a  beating  heart  and  a  pale  face ;  then, 
once  inside,  at  the  motion  of  the  lace  curtains 
waving  to  and  fro  in  the  afternoon  breeze,  a 
bewilderment  seized  her.  She  stopped  short,  turned, 
and  was  about  to  flee.  Voices  seemed  calling  to  her  ; 
warning  apparitions  floated  to  and  fro.  She  knew  it 
was  only  the  wind  in  the  trees,  and  the  river  reflections 
on  the  ceiling,  but  something  disturbed  her  to  the 
bottom  of  her  soul.  She  felt  that  if  she  could  open 
the  blinds,  and  admit  air  and  light,  she  might  throw 


"A   WOMAN'S  BEASON."  £11 

off  this  stifling  sensation  which  impeded  her.  She 
did  so  ;  but  at  the  moment  a  ray  of  sunlight,  making 
its  way  through  the  group  of  beeches,  struck  upon 
her  forehead  like  a  tongue  of  flame,  and  seemed  to 
burn  her.  She  fled  on  the  moment,  trembling  from 
head  to  foot.  It  took  her  half  an  hour  to  regain  her 
equilibrium.  All  was  in  confusion  within  her. 

Meanwhile  Medhurst  finished  his  afternoon's 
work,  and,  what  was  unusual  with  him,  found  an 
errand  to  his  room.  He  bad  never  felt  that  the 
pretty,  boudoir-like  apartment  really  belonged  to 
him,  and  he  kept  his  own  implements  and  appoint- 
ments well  out  of  sight,  in  order  not  to  spoil  the 
pretty  and  coquettish  effect.  Hence  any  kind  of 
disorder  attracted  his  eye,  and,  at  the  sight  of 
something  lying  on  the  floor,  he  at  once  picked  it 
up.  It  was  nothing  of  his  own ;  something,  on 
the  contrary,  soft,  filmy,  the  edges  set  off  by  deli- 
cate embroidery.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  handkerchief, 
with  Cecil's  name  worked  in  the  corner.  Med- 
hurst held  it  for  a  few  moments,  regarding  it  in- 
tently. Certain  pictures  of  Cecil,  possibly  in  this 
very  room,  appeared  vividly  in  succession  before 
his  mental  vision,  and  twice  in  his  reverie  he 
applied  the  soft  linen  to  his  cheek.  Emerging 
from  this  dreamy  condition  he  went  downstairs, 
still  holding  the  handkerchief  in  his  hand,  and, 
going  out  on  the  porch,  looked  up  the  broad  walk, 
which  led  straight  to  the  garden.  Half-a-dozen 
ladies  were  walking  there,  near  the  summer-house, 
where  he  thought  it  probable  tea  was  being  served. 
He  went  down  the  steps,  and  sauntered  towards 
the  group,  with  no  especial  purpose  in  his  mind. 


212  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

He  was  looking  for  Cecil,  and  only  Cecil ;  and  the 
light  parasols  and  dresses  of  the  other  ladies  were 
merely  accessories  of  the  scene,  like  the  flowers 
and  shrubs.  All  at  once,  however,  he  received  a 
sharp  rap  across  his  shoulders,  and,  turning,  saw 
Mrs.  Est£,  who  had  jumped  up,  in  her  pretty,  in- 
fantile way,  from  a  bench,  and  now  assailed  him. 

"I  was  wishing  to  see  you.  I  was  talking 
about  you,"  she  cried,  with  vivacity.  "  I  was 
telling  Miss  Haxtoun  about  your  book,  which  she 
says  she  has  not  seen.  Sit  down,  and  explain 
why  you  keep  such  talents  in  the  dark.  Such 
strength,  such  depth,  such  tenderness !  And  the 
love  scenes,  —  they  wrung  my  heart!  They  are 
just  like  life.  Ah,  youth,  youth,  how  can  you 
know  such  things?" 

Mrs.  Est6  was  brandishing  a  point-lace  parasol, 
with  an  ivory  handle,  which  struck  feebly  and 
indefinitely  wherever  it  chanced  to  alight ;  and  Med- 
hurst  was  stabbed,  by  turns,  in  the  breast,  in  the 
neck,  and  in  the  eye,  by  this  delicate  weapon. 

"Shall  I  furl  it  for  you?"  he  inquired.  "You 
are  quite  in  the  shade  here." 

"  Oh,  it  is  my  weapon,  my  shield,  my  hel- 
met," said  Mrs.  Est6,  with  her  little  shrug  of  the 
shoulders.  "  I  don't  want  to  be  looked  at  too 
curiously.  You  might  find  out  how  many  wrin- 
kles I  have  got,  you  clever,  observant  cynic !  "  and 
she  thrust  it  in  his  face  again. 

In  spite  of  this  candor  Mrs.  Esters  appearance 
was  as  youthful  as  it  was  brilliant.  She  wore 
a  white  veil,  and  behind  it  her  complexion  appeared 
absolutely  dazzling.  She  was  dressed  in  a  long, 


"A    WOMAN'S  REASON."  213 

trailing  reception-dress,  of  pale  azure ;  and  a 
small  bonnet,  with  the  same  exquisite  shade  re- 
peated in  its  plumes,  surmounted  her  soft,  snowy 
curls. 

Her  ruffled  sleeves  reached  only  to  her  elbow, 
and  her  little  arms  were  covered  with  loosely  fit- 
ting gloves.  Cecil  had  brought  her  a  cup  of  tea, 
but  she  declined  it.  She  was  perhaps  not  pre- 
pared to  raise  the  silvery  film  of  a  veil  which 
made  her  so  radiant. 

Medhurst  looked  at  her  with  a  soit  of  bewildered 
admiration. 

"  Miss  Haxtoun  says  you  have  never  said  a  word 
to  her  about  your  book ;  how  is  that  ? "  demanded 
Mrs.  Este".  "Is  it  a  secret?  If  it  were  a  secret 
why  did  you  not  tell  it  to  me,  instead  of  to  Fanny 
Dalton?  I  can  keep  a  secret.  I  have  sympathy, 
sentiment,  silence.  I  am  never  grand ;  but  then  I 
am  never  petty  !  I  am  faithful  —  I  am  "  — 

"  I  am  too  unimportant  a  person  to  have  it 
matter  whether  my  name  is  known  as  the  author 
of  the  book,"  said  Medhurst.  "  It  belongs  to  an 
anonymous  series,  so  I  never  discussed  the  matter 
with  the  publishers." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Cecil ;  "  so  your  name  is  not 
given ! " 

He  was  struck  by  the  vibration  of  her  voice. 
Looking  at  her  he  saw  that  it  accorded  with  the 
excited  expression  of  her  face,  and  the  brilliancy 
of  her  eyes,  which  were  fixed  and  opened  wide. 

"  No,"  said  he,  quietly. 

*'  The  name  of  the  book  is  *  Bettering  Opportu- 


214  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

nit}-,'  I  hear,"  she  went  on,  with  some  significance 
in  her  tone. 

"  Don't  read  it,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  beg  you  not 
to  read  it,  Miss  Haxtoun.  It  is  actually  of  no 
importance." 

"  That  is  what  one  likes  in  you,"  struck  in  Mrs. 
Este,  with  a  little  shriek,  and  now  piercing  his 
temple  with  the  sharp  point  of  the  parasol-tip. 
"You  are  so  quiet,  so  modest,  so  reserved,  one 
does  not  know  what  is  in  you.  1  should  not  be 
surprised  to  hear  that  you  were  a  prince  in  dis- 
guise, should  you,  Cecil,  dearest?" 

"  Nothing  in  the  way  of  silence,  disguise,  and 
successful  mystification  would  astonish  me  where 
Mr.  Medhurst  is  concerned,"  said  Cecil,  in  a  low 
tone,  which  Mrs.  Est6  did  not  quite  catch. 

"And  in  the  theatricals, "  Mrs.  Este"  pursued, 
"we  want  him  to  take  a  part  suited  to  his  good 
looks  and  his  talents ;  but  there  this  modesty  and 
self-restraint  come  in  again.  He  refuses  to  do 
anything  except  by  way  of  filling  a  gap.  If  one 
yawns  wide  enough  to  threaten  to  destroy  the 
chances  of  the  play,  he  is  willing  to  throw  him- 
self into  the  gulf,  like  Marcus  Curtius." 

"  That  is  noble,"  said  Cecil,  in  an  ironic  tone. 

"  We  have  come  over  to  ask  Miss  Haxtoun  to 
take  the  part  of  Nathalie,"  said  Mrs.  Este".  "  Mrs. 
Haxtoun  has  given  her  consent,  and  also  that  Miss 
Winchester  shall  join  us  ;  but  here  is  this  little  girl 
quite  refractory  and  rebellious,  and  flatly  refuses  to 
act." 

"Indeed?    That  seems  a  pity,"  said  Medhurst. 


"A   WOMAN'S  REASON."  215 

"  Miss  Haxtoun  would  show  no  meagre  abilities  in 
that  line,  I  fancy." 

"  You  have  read  the  play,  I  believe.  "What  part 
do  you  think  I  ought  to  take?  "  Cecil  asked,  with  a 
little,  disdainful  smile. 

"  Dear  Lady  Disdain,"  said  Medhurst,  still  hold- 
ing Cecil's  handkerchief  in  his  hand,  now  crumpled 
into  the  smallest  wad. 

Engaged  in  this  little  war,  neither  Cecil  nor  Med- 
hurst had  noticed  that  Mrs.  Dalton  stood  close  be- 
hind them,  on  the  turf,  having  crossed  from  the 
summer-house,  with  her  soft,  floating  movement. 
She  was  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  and  seemed 
excessively  amused.  A  brilliant  spot  of  color  burned 
on  each  of  Cecil's  cheeks,  and  they  were  repeated  in 
Medhurst's.  There  were  in  the  air  of  each  unmis- 
takable signs  of  their  having  recently  passed  some 
flood-tide  of  excitement ;  but  what  their  faces 
showed  their  words  hardly  accounted  for. 

"Are  you  talking  about  our  poor  little  play?" 
Mrs.  Dalton  now  asked,  in  a  pretty,  caressing  way. 
"  I  dare  say,  Miss  Haxtoun,  if  you  felt  any  timidity 
about  undertaking  a  part,  that  my  Cousin  Frank 
would  train  you  a  little  for  it." 

"You  are  ever  so  kind,"  said  Cecil;  "  but  I 
should  not  like  to  have  to  wait  until  Mr.  Medhurst 
had  time  to  teach  me." 

"  He  would  like  nothing  better,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Dalton.  "  He  has  drilled  me  many  a  time." 

"  Now  he  can  drill  you  over  again,"  said  Cecil, 
with  a  little,  joj'ous  laugh. 

"  Now  I  am  too  old.      To  be  young,  and  to  be 


216  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

blundering  and  ignorant,  that  may  be  borne.  But, 
Miss  Haxtoun,  you  will  play,  will  you  not?  " 

"  I  have  told  Mrs.  Est6  I  cannot  undertake  it." 

"  Perhaps  Mrs.  Esters  son  may  shake  your  resolu- 
tion." 

"  Mr.  Heriot  can  be  very  eloquent,"  put  in  Med- 
hurst. 

"Well,  perhaps,  if  he  is  very  eloquent,"  said 
Cecil. 

"  But  what  is  your  objection?"  asked  Mrs.  Dai- 
ton.  "  Everybody  loves  to  play,  now.  Nine  women 
out  of  ten  long  to  go  on  the  stage.  Did  you  never 
have  the  inclination?" 

Cecil  shrugged  her  shoulders  slightly,  and  smiled. 

"  One  gets  so  tired  of  one's  little  scrap  of  exist- 
ence," pursued  Mrs.  Dalton.  "  By  the  time  one  is 
twenty-five  it  is  all  mapped  out,  and  one  can  survey 
one's  own  mental  estate  and  consider  how  dull  it  is. 
In  real  life  you  only  have  one  chance.  You  may, 
perhaps,  be  a  Juliet,  —  and  it  is  very  pretty  and 
pathetic  to  be  a  Juliet,  —  but  it  comes  to  an  end  very 
soon.  On  the  stage  there  are  no  limitations :  one  is 
a  Juliet,  but  one  is  also  a  Cleopatra;  a  Marguerite, 
but  also  a  Rosalind.  Should  you  not  like  that,  Miss 
Haxtoun?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  not  sufficient  imagination," 
Cecil  replied,  with  an  air  of  candor.  "  Besides,  it 
seems  to  me  my  vitality  is  more  complete  when  I  am 
just  myself,  than  it  would  be  if  I  tried  to  be  a  little 
scrap  of  this,  and  again  a  little  scrap  of  that.  There 
is  not  enough  of  me  to  go  round.  I  should  be  dread- 
fully piecemeal." 


"A   WOMAN'S  REASON."  217 

Mrs.  Este"'s  parasol  had  been  quiet  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. She  had,  in  fact,  indulged  in  one  of  the 
little  naps  she  could  not  resist  when  she  had  not  the 
full  weight  of  the  conversation  upon  her.  But  she 
now  reemerged  with  extreme  vivacity,  and  gave 
Medhurst  one  of  her  playful  taps,  asked  Fanny  if 
she  were  ready  to  take  leave,  and  demanded  to  be 
taken  to  her  carriage. 


218          .    ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

TWO   LOVERS. 

IT  had  been  Mrs.  Haxtoun's  reception-day,  and 
the  last  afternoon  guest  did  not  take  her  de- 
parture until  it  was  almost  dark.  Ever  since  dinner 
Cecil  and  Lilly  had  been  making  coffee  and  tea,  and 
sending  cups  about,  out-of-doors  and  in.  Cecil's 
little  excursion  into  a  forbidden  land,  which  we 
dwelt  on  in  the  last  chapter,  had  not  taken  many 
minutes,  and  had  been  unnoticeably  niched  between 
the  speeding  of  certain  guests  away  and  the  wel- 
coming of  new  ones.  By  eight  o'clock  she  was 
very  tired ;  but  she  knew  that  the  lull  was  merely 
temporary ;  and  that  shortly  the  evening  visitors 
would  appear. 

"  I  am  going  to  walk  in  the  garden  a  little,  by  my- 
self," she  said  to  her  mother. 

"  Do  you  not  want  Lilly  to  go  with  you?" 

"Lilly  and  Arthur?  No,  thank  you.  I  would 
rather  be  quite  by  myself ;  it  will  freshen  me  a 
little." 

She  ran  out  at  once  into  the  warm,  scented  dusk. 
A  faint  wind  had  risen,  which  made  the  tree-tops 
wave,  but  did  not  descend  except  occasionally  in 
sweet,  deep  breaths  of  cooler  air,  for  which  one 
waited  as  for  a  reviving  cordial.  Far  up  in  the 


TWO  LOVE  MS.  219 

north-west  a  vermilion  flush  of  sunset  lingered  still, 
and  away  in  the  east  the  sky  was  taking  a  glow 
which  heralded  the  moon.  The  silence  was  intense  ; 
the  river  showed  by  glimpses  faintly  cold  and  gray. 
The  flowers  had  all  turned  white,  and  a  rose-bush, 
laden  with  straw-colored  blossoms,  looked  like  a 
Christmas-tree  hung  with  pale  lamps.  Cecil  stood 
still  and  looked  up ;  not  a  star  was  out.  Yes,  there 
was  Arcturus ;  and  the  Dipper  suddenly  gleamed 
faintly.  All  at  once  a  thrush,  belated,  or  in  its  first 
happy  dream,-  gave  forth  its  last  burr.  She  started 
as  if  frightened,  then,  gathering  up  her  skirts  in  her 
hand,  ran  lightly  down  the  broad,  gravelled  walk. 

Near  the  summer-house  she  paused.  It  had  grown 
darker  since  she  came  out.  The  east  was  brighter, 
but  the  moon  was  not  yet  up.  Still  every  object 
rose  half-dim,  yet  distinctly,  in  the  shadowless 
twilight.  It  seemed  to  her  some  one  was  sitting  in 
the  arbor,  and  she  hardly  liked  to  advance.  A 
moment  ended  any  uncertainty,  for  at  her  first  sign 
of  hesitation  Medhurst  came  towards  her.  She 
gave  a  cry  of  surprise. 

"  Pray,  do  not  be  frightened,"  said  he.  "  I  have 
been  sitting  here  since  the  afternoon." 

"All  alone?" 

"  Quite  alone.  I  do  not  know  who  would  keep 
me  company." 

"  I  came  out  to  feel  the  coolness,"  said  Cecil. 
"I  was  very  warm  and  very  tired." 

"Your  coming  gives  me  a  chance  to  restore  this 
little  article  of  yours,"  said  Medhurst,  whose  manner 
was  unnecessarily  haughty.  He  held  out  the  hand- 
kerchief. 


220  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  doubtfully. 

"  A  handkerchief !" 

"  Oh,  thank  you  so  much." 

"  Having  accomplished  that  duty,  I  will  take  my- 
self off,"  said  Medhurst.  "  You  can  continue  your 
stroll  undisturbed." 

'  He  was  about  to  move  past  her,  but  she  stretched 
out  her  hand.  "  Stay  a  moment,"  she  exclaimed, 
with  an  imperative  gesture.  "  I  have  sent  for  your 
book." 

"  That  was  unnecessary.  Had  I  supposed  you 
would  care  to  read  it  I  would  have  offered  it  to  you. 
I  kept  two  copies  ;  one  I  gave  to  Mrs.  Dalton." 

"I  preferred  to  buy  it,"  said  Cecil.  "I  have 
sent  a  postal  card  to  papa's  place  in  town,  and  it 
will  be  up  to-morrow." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  given  it  to  you.  I  should 
have  done  so,  had  I  not  felt  that  it  might  be  con- 
sidered a  piece  of  presumption  on  my  part." 

"Do  not  speak  in  that  way,"  said  Cecil,  with  a 
tremor  of  something  like  indignation  in  her  voice. 

"  God  knows,"  continued  Medhurst,  with  some 
heat,  "  I  want  to  keep  my  place  here  with  what 
show  of  propriety,  humility,  and  decency  I  can ; 
but  where  you  are  concerned  I  seem  constantly  in 
some  way  to  overstep  the  appointed  boundaries." 

"  I  do  not  know  to  what  you  allude." 

"Do  you  not?  I  should  not  know  how  to  make 
it  clear  to  you.  One  night  you  were  on  the  river  in 
the  boat  with  me,  and  what  could  have  been  more 
genial  and  friendly  than  your  manner? — you  showed 
sympathy.  A  few  days  later  you  made  it  exceed- 
ingly plain  that  I  was  not  to  remember  those  two 


TWO  LOVERS.  221 

pleasant  hours,  or,  at  least,  to  count  on  them  as  an 
assurance  of  any  permanent  kindness  from  you." 

"Do  you  mean  the  Fourth  of  July?"  asked 
Cecil,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes,  I  mean  the  Fourth  of  July." 

"  I  should  have  said  that  instead  of" —  Cecil 
began  with  intense  earnestness,  but  then  broke  off, 
and  remained  obstinately  silent.  He  waited,  but 
she  made  no  further  effort  to  conclude. 

"  Do  not  fancy  that  I  mean  to  complain,"  he 
said,  proudly.  "  I  wished  merely  to  prove  to  you 
that  my  intention  is  to  take  the  place  you  accord  to 
me  in  the  house.  The  position  I  hold  is  anomalous, 
and  I  have  not  sufficient  tact  or  knowledge  of 
social  rules  to  define  what  its  duties  are.  I  would 
not  for  the  world  presume ;  but,  at  the  same  time, 
I  hate  to  fail  in  any  obligation.  I  am  sorry  I  did 
not  at  once  present  my  stupid  little  novel  to  Mrs. 
Haxtouu." 

He  had  said  all  this  in  a  tone  of  intense  annoy- 
ance and  mortification,  but  with  a  sort  of  restraint, 
as  if  every  syllable  of  explanation  cost  him  dear. 
In  fact  he  had  been  furious  in  the  afternoon,  and 
still  remained  furious.  He  could  see  her  young  face 
shining  in  the  first  beams  of  the  rising  moon.  The 
white  light  changed  its  usual  rosy,  almost  childish, 
oval  into  a  new  beauty  and  a  new  expression.  She 
looked  to  him  like  a  goddess. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  in  a  hopeless  tone,  "  j'ou  do 
not  know  me.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  —  to  be 
always  the  same.  Besides,  I  am  pulled  first  one  way, 
and  then  the  other ;  it  is  not  always  all  my  own  fault. 
It  is  "  — 


222  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Pray  do  not  make  these  confessions.  You  are 
certain  to  regret  them.  You  need  tell  me  but  one 
thing,  — of  what  were  you  accusing  me,  when  you 
declared  to-day  that  nothing  in  the  way  of  silence, 
disguise,  and  successful  mystification  would  surprise 
you  where  I  was  concerned? " 

"Did  I  say  that?" 

"  Precisely  that.  You  said  it,  too,  with  a  direct- 
ness and  vehemence  which  showed  it  to  be  the 
overflow  of  some  long,  bitter,  and  suspicious 
thoughts  in  your  mind." 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  said  it."  She  spoke  almost 
under  her  breath. 

"  Certainly,  if  you  felt  it  you  were  right  in  saying 
it.  My  only  question  is,  what  meaning  was  in  your 
mind  ?  " 

"  You  had  told  me  the  story  of  your  life,  you 
know,"  faltered  Cecil. 

'"Well,  yes." 

She  had  drawn  nearer  to  him.  He  could  see  her 
face  plainly ;  childish,  supplicating,  and  intensely 
serious. 

"  Then,"  she  went  on,  brokenly,  "  when  I  saw  you 
meet  Mrs.  Dalton,  I  said  to  myself,  '  He  told  me 
nothing,  after  all.'  I  could  no  longer  feel  that  you 
had  been  open  and  candid  with  me.  I  believed  you 
had  withheld  what  was  actually  of  interest  and  im- 
portance." 

Medhurst  was  frankly  amazed.  He  seemed  to 
feel  his  head  swimming  with  a  multitude  of  impres- 
sions. He  might  have  been  amused,  except  that  her 
absolute  naivete,  and  her  obedience  in  answering 
his  demand,  touched  him.  "  But,"  said  he,  singu- 


TWO  LOVERS.  223 

larly  embarrassed,  —  "  but  how  can  a  man  speak  of 
such  things,  and  to  a  young  girl?  I  had  nothing  to 
tell  that  sounded  heroic  or  successful,  and  it  would 
have  seemed  a  pity  to  add  a  commonplace  story  of 
slighted  love,  like  mine." 

"  A  commonplace  story?" 

"  We  were  engaged  for  a  time,"  said  Medhurst, 
in  a  dull  voice,  "  and  then  she  married  Dalton." 

"  How  terrible  !     How  cruel !  "  cried  Cecil. 

Medhurst  was  silent. 

"  The  night  you  were  in  the  boat,  and  I  was  talk- 
ing about  myself,"  said  he,  after  a  short  pause,  "  I 
was  not  thinking  of  her  at  all.  I  had  no  idea  what 
had  become  of  her.  Presently  you  told  me  she  was 
in  this  neighborhood.  Even  then  I  supposed  she 
was  still  married." 

"  You  did  not  know  when  you  met  her  that  day 
that  she  was  a  widow?" 

"No.     She  told  me  herself. ' ' 

They  were  both  silent.  Medhurst  stood,  with 
his  arms  folded,  looking  down  at  the  young  girl. 
He  did  not  care  to  analyze  the  feelings  stirring 
within  him.  She  seemed  timid,  but  there  were  still 
signs  of  her  being  excited  and  absorbed. 

"  I  had  heard  that  you  were  once  engaged  to  her," 
Cecil  now  said,  looking  up  at  him. 

"Who  told  you?" 

"  Mr.  Heriot." 

"It  is  hardly  worth  talking  about.  What  is  past 
is  past." 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  began  Cecil,  but 
paused. 

"Tell  me  what?" 


224  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  That  one  reason  I  have  longed  to  read  your 
book  is,  that"  — 

She  hesitated,  and  he  finished  the  speech  for  her. 

"You  think  I  have  written  down  my  love-story? 
You  don't  know  me.  Peeping  and  botanizing  upon 
my  mother's  grave?  No.  I  have  just  given  my  para- 
ble against  this  dishonest,  materialistic,  accursed  age. 
That  is  all." 

The  stillness  grew  appalling.  The  glow  of  sunset 
was  quite  gone  from  the  west,  and  on  that  side  the 
trees  gloomed  together  in  great  masses  ;  but  against 
the  east  they  showed  the  interlacing  of  their 
branches,  and  the  net-work  of  their  leaves,  as  the 
full  moon  floated  up,  each  moment  opening  new 
vistas  and  casting  fresh  shadows.  The  house 
stood  at  the  end  of  the  long  walk,  with  its  long, 
gleaming,  lace-curtained  windows  lighting  up  its 
dark  height. 

"Ought  you  not  to  go  in?"  Medhurst  asked, 
suddenly. 

"Perhaps  so,"  she  said,  timidly;  then  she  put 
out  her  hand.  "  Tell  me  you  are  no  longer  angry 
with  me,"  she  murmured. 

He  could  not  have  helped  taking  the  hand  with- 
out repulsing  her,  and,  taking  it,  he  grasped  it 
impetuously,  then  dropped  it  on  the  moment.  A 
sound  suddenly  pierced  the  silence  ;  footsteps  were 
heard. 

"  Walk  toward  the  house  quietly,"  Medhurst 
said,  in  her  ear.  "  That  is  Heriot.  Don't  let  him 
know  I  was  here." 

Cecil  obeyed  mechanically.  She  was  a  little 
bewildered,  but  she  was  not  confused.  She  neither 


TWO  LOVERS.  225 

saw  Medhurst  nor  heard  him,  as  he  leaped  across  the 
wide  flower-beds  which  bordered  the  path,  and 
vanished  behind  the  shrubbery.  She  had  time  for 
about  t\vent3r  steps  before  she  became  actually  cer- 
tain that  some  one  was  approaching.  Then  a  figure 
began  to  take  shape  out  of  the  gloom,  and  presently 
Rodney  Heriot  had  joined  her. 

"  Your  mother  sent  me  out  to  take  care  of  you,"* 
he  said,  coming  close  to  her  and  pausing.     "  She 
said  I  might  walk  with  you  here  a  little." 

"  I  was  just  going  in." 

"  Do  not  go  in.  Stay  here  with  me.  Inside  it  is 
stifling,  and  they  are  talking  endlessly  about  the 
most  uninteresting  things.  Here  it  is  a  foretaste 
of  heaven. " 

"  My  ideas  of  heaven  are  so  different  from 
yours." 

"  You  have  so  many  ideas.  You  don't  seem  to 
know  the  proper  feminine  attitude  at  all." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Looking  up,  and  adoring  and  receiving." 

"  I  should  like  to  look  up  and  adore,"  said  Cecil, 
with  a  sort  of  petulance.  "  I  wish  I  were  a  little 
child,  to  be  governed  and  led,  and  kept  out  of  mis- 
chief." 

' '  Kept  out  of  mischief ! "  repeated  Rodney,  in  a 
tone  of  incredulity.  "  What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Cecil,  turning  abruptly 
away,  and  staring  hard  at  the  moon. 

"  I  will  keep  you  out  of  mischief,"  said  Rodney. 
"  Take  my  arm,  Miss  Haxtoun,  and  let  us  walk 
along." 

Almost  to  his  surprise,  she  obeyed. 


226  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  been  actually 
alone  with  her,  and  something  soft  and  compliant 
in  her  mood  enhanced  the  worth  of  his  opportunity. 
A  thousand  fancies  whirled  through  his  mind :  he 
might  end  his  uncertainty  by  offering  her  marriage  ; 
he  might,  better  still,  make  some  advances,  which 
should  give  him  a  sight  of  that  delightful  country 
•which  he  coveted,  without  making  him  wholly  lose 
the  charm  of  his  free,  roving  life  outside ;  then, 
again,  it  was  possible  to  make  her  like  him  a  little 
better.  He  might  talk,  not  plead ;  be  himself,  not 
act;  and  she  might  become  stirred,  touched,  fasci- 
nated. If  a  man  could  not,  under  such  skies,  on 
such  a  night  as  this,  say  something  to  the  woman  he 
loved,  he  had  better  hold  his  tongue  ever  after.  All 
he  had  to  do  was  to  feel,  and  to  let  himself  go.  Rod- 
ney could  be  eloquent  enough  upon  occasions,  and  he 
wondered  where  his  wit  was  now.  He  was  dumb. 

"  "What  are  3*ou  thinking  of?  "  he  asked  presently, 
finding  silence  irksome. 

"  I  was  not  thinking." 

"  Then  I  trust  you  had  not  committed  yourself  to 
the  thought  that  I  was  stupid." 

"  I  am  not  apt  to  think  that.  I  generally  consider 
you  too  clever  for  any  of  us.  I  might  call  myself 
stupid,  but  I  always  reflect  that  it  does  not  matter. 
If  you  were  bored  you  would  go  away.  I  cannot 
imagine  you  a  victim  to  be  pitied  and  have  your 
wrongs  redressed." 

"  You  could  not  pity  me,  then  ;  and  you  fancy  I 
have  not  been  bored  since  I  came  to  stay  with  my 
mother  ?  " 

"  You  would  have  gone  away  if  you  had  been  very 


TWO  LOVERS.  227 

much  bored,  or  if  you  considered  you  would  be  less 
bored  in  other  places." 

"  You  are  right.  I  had  no  such  inducement  to  go 
away  as  I  had  to  remain." 

Cecil  said  nothing.  Rodney  himself  felt  in- 
explicably happy.  It  would  have  contented  him  to 
walk  up  and  down  till  midnight  in  this  bland,  fresh 
air,  with  her  hand  on  his  arm.  If  he  could  have 
put  his  hand  over  hers,  that  would  have  been 
delicious  ;  but  he  delaj'ed  even  making  the  attempt, 
preferring  that  imagination  and  illusion  should  have 
their  hour  first.  He  was  faintly  troubled  by  stray 
fears  that  she  might  be  finding  him  tiresome.  He 
had  never  had  to  ponder  the  matter  before,  how  and 
to  what  degree  he  pleased  a  woman  ;  whether  the 
intellect,  the  heart,  or  the  spirit ;  whether  deeply, 
superficially,  or  not  at  all.  But  Cecil  was  to  him 
inscrutable.  Without  life  and  without  experience 
he  could  not  tell  what  a  woman's  impressions  might 
be.  She  might  find  a  man  passionately  in  love  a 
grotesque  object.  He  remembered  once  being  at  the 
Theatre  Italien  with  a  party,  among  whom  were  two 
young  American  girls.  It  was  a  k'  Trovatore  "  night, 
and  the  tenor  was  superb,  and  sang  Non  ti  scordar 
di  me  as  it  had  rarely  been  given,  even  in  Paris.  It 
quite  melted  him,  and,  to  hide  a  certain  emotion,  he 
started  to  go  into  the  lobby,  and  there  chanced  to  see 
that  the  two  girls  were  in  fits  of  laughter.  He  sup- 
posed at  first  it  was  hysterical ;  but  it  was  explained 
to  him,  with  easy  candor,  that  they  found  Maurico  the 
most  irresistibly  funny  object  as  he  sang,  because  he 
opened  his  mouth  so  queerly.  The  impression  he 
gained  at  that  moment  had  been  a  bar  to  his  admira- 


228  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

tion  for  young  girls  for  many  a  day  after.  It  was 
possible  that  Cecil  had  some  sarcastic  idea  in  her 
mind  now,  which  she  would  either  launch  at  him  on 
occasion,  or  whisper  to  her  mother  or  cousin  after- 
wards. He  felt  that  he  ought  to  rouse  himself,  to 
talk,  to  act.  But  then  that  endless  thrusting  and  par- 
rying, which  women  call  conversation,  was  so  hard  and 
coarse,  compared  with  this  fine  pleasure  his  thoughts 
gave  him.  The  most  delicious  images  gathered 
shape,  and  passed  vividly  before  his  mind.  There 
was  immense  sweetness  in  feeling  that  he  was 
almost  face  to  face  with  a  charming  fresh  and  wholly 
passionate  experience  just  behind  the  veil  which  he 
ought  even  at  this  moment  to  lift. 
"  Mr.  Heriot,"  said  Cecil. 

"Well,"  he  answered,  almost  amazed  that  an 
expression  of  intense  tenderness  did  not  instead 
issue  from  his  lips. 

"  You  say  nothing  to  me  about  the  play." 
"  The  play  —  the  play  —  the  play,"  he  said,  with 
an   accent  as  if   wishing    to   annihilate   the   play. 
"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"  They  were  asking  me  to  take  a  part." 
"  And  3"ou  declined.     I  admired  you  for  it." 
"Why?"  asked  Cecil,  hesitatingly.      "Did  you 
really  prefer  I  should  not  play?  " 

"  I  hate  to  think  of  you  in  connection  with  the 

rivalry  of  actors,  the  foot-lights,  the  rouge,  all  the 

tawdry  paraphernalia  of  even  a  mock  theatre." 

"  Yet  you  were  anxious  to  have  Mrs.  Dalton  act." 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  put  you  and  Mrs.  Dalton  hi 

the  same  category?     Why,  Cecil,  if  the  alternative 

were  between  3rour  becoming  a  woman  like  Fanny 


TWO  LOVERS.  229 

Dalton  or  my  mother,  yet  being  wholly  and  entirely 
mine,  and  staying  as  you  are,  and  my  parting  from 
you  forever,  —  nevermore  to  look  upon  your  face,  — 
I  would  not  hesitate  for  a  moment." 

"You  ought  not  to  speak  of  your  mother  in  that 
disrespectful  way." 

"  But  then,  my  first  passion  was  for  my  mother, 
and  no  man  can  close  the  account  of  his  first  passion 
and  not  be  a  little  bitter  over  it.  You  can't  begin 
to  think  how  I  worshipped  her  when  I  was  a  little 
fellow.  She  was  so  pretty,  so  delicate ;  I  thought 
her  the  finest  lady  in  the  world.  I  used  to  sit 
and  watch  her  make  her  toilet  to  go  out  to  parties, 
and  her  little  arts  bewitched  me.  I  dare  say  she 
has  two  women  to  dress  her  now ;  but  then  she  did 
everything  herself,  even  to  making  her  own  gowns. 
She  had  the  brightest  blonde  hair,  and  it  curled  at 
the  merest  touch  of  her  little,  slender  fingers.  '  Now, 
just  a  tinge  of  pink,'  she  would  say,  and  her  cheeks 
would  brighten  up  into  the  prettiest  blush.  '  My 
eyes  are  dull,'  she  would  go  on,  and  a  line  of  black 
under  the  lower  lid  made  them  larger  and  sadder. 
I  did  not  see  the  harm  of  it,  and  I  did  see  the  charm  ; ' 
and  I  used  to  flatter  her,  and  she  told  me  nobody 
else's  compliments  counted  at  all.  We  used  to 
chatter  and  flirt  like  a  boy  and  girl,  and  with  her 
hand  on  my  arm  I  was  as  happy  almost  —  as  I  am 
to-night.  When  we  sat  opposite  each  other  at  meals 
we  used  to  talk  brilliantly  and  wittily,  I  thought. 
Well,  Cecil,  one  day  I  went  into  the  parlor  and  saw 
her  pretty  blonde  head  against  a  man's  shoulder. 
You  have  seen  Este",  and  know  what  a  Hyperion  he 


230  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

was.      Henceforth  he  made  a  third  iu  our  little  para- 
dise until  I  was  cast  out." 

"  But  now  you  have  got  her  back  again." 

"No, — that  dream  was  over.  I  may  easily  be 
deceived  once  ;  but,  undeceived,  my  eyes  are  blinded 
no  more.  She  was  perfectly  well  satisfied  with  her 
ape ;  his  antics  did  not  mortify  her.  She  had  all 
the  money  she  wanted,  and  could  out-dress  and  out- 
shine the  women  she  had  been  competing  with  at  a 
disadvantage  before." 

u  But  can  you  not  forgive  her,  now  that  she  is 
old?" 

"  Oh,  I  forgive  her!  I  hated  Este,  but  I  never 
hated  her.  Still,  when  I  say  within  myself  that  I 
am  nothing,  nobody ;  have  attempted  nothing, 
achieved  nothing ;  lived  for  the  moment  only,  yet 
gained  nothing  of  worth  from  even  its  pleasures,  — 
then  I  say  it  is  all  her  fault.  But,  after  all,  I  do 
not  believe  it,  even  when  I  declare  it  most  intensely. 
And  now  that  I  am  used  to  her  again  I  occasionally 
feel  a  trick  of  the  old  love.  She  is  such  a  foolish, 
kittenish,  .old  cat." 

He  had  let  himself  go  and  had  been  carried  away  ; 
but  not  by  the  deep  thought  which  burned  in  his 
heart. 

"  But,  Mr.  Heriot,"  said  Cecil,  "  do  you  think  I 
might  withdraw  my  refusal  to  act?" 

"Oh,  yes!" 

"  And  you  will  not  mind  having  me  in  the  play?  " 

"No." 

"  Then,  if  I  may,  I  will  accept." 

"  Ah,  I  see  ;  you  want  to  put  on  a  little  rouge  ! " 


TWO   LOVERS.  231 

"Oh,  no!  Nothing  would  induce  me  to  wear 
rouge." 

"  You  can't  help  yourself.  You  cannot  be  two 
people  at  once.  You  cannot  say,  I  will  be  simple, 
natural,  true,  and  at  the  same  time  be  the  other 
thing.  Well,  don't  put  on  any  rouge  when  you  walk 
in  the  garden  with  me." 

•;  We  must  go  in,"  said  Cecil.  "  The  wind  is 
colder ;  I  feel  chilly." 

"  There  was  something  I  wanted  to  say  to  you  "  — 

"  You  can  tell  me  inside." 

"  Are  you  actually  cold?  " 

"  I  am  shivering  all  over.  Mamma  will  be  quite 
vexed  with  me  for  staying  out  so  long." 

kt  It  was  so  pleasant,"  said  Rodney,  "  that  I  put 
it  off  too  long.  I  shall  not  tell  you  my  secret  to- 
night, nor  I  think  will  I  go  in  again.  You  can  bid 
Mrs.  Haxtoun  good-by  for  me." 

He  did  not  even  ascend  the  steps,  but  stood  on 
the  drive,  watching  Cecil  as  her  light  shape  crossed 
the  porch  and  vanished  inside  the  lighted  door. 


232  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    STAR-CHAMBER    MATTER. 

ON  a  summer  night  so  many  things  under  the 
wide  skies  listen  and  wait,  it  would  have  been 
strange  if  the  secret  of  Cecil's  meeting  with  Med- 
hurst  had  not  been  blabbed  aloud.  Lilly  Winches- 
ter had  said  to  Arthur,  after  Cecil  had  run  out  iuto 
the  twilight,  that  she,  too,  wanted  a  walk,  and  the 
engaged  lovers  had  strolled  away,  as  if  to  go  to 
the  water's  edge.  Half-way  down  the  terraces  Lilly 
paused. 

"Don't  say  a  word,  Arthur,"  she  whispered; 
"  I'll  explain  afterwards,  but  I  want  to  go  up  to  the 
garden  through  the  grapery." 

Under  the  trellises,  covered  with  their. luxuriant 
vines,  all  was  dark  as  night ;  but  Lilly  knew  the  way, 
and  led  her  bewildered  lover  swiftly,  but  stealthily, 
up  the  slopes,  now  and  then  turning  to  give  some 
word  of  warning  and  to  repress  any  possible  excla- 
mation forced  from  him  by  his  increasing  surprise. 
Arthur  never  pretended  to  comprehend  Lilly.  One 
of  her  most  irresistible  charms  to  him  was  that  she 
soared  above  him  in  wit,  resource,  and  enterprise. 
Her  little  tricks  and  minaitderies  sometimes  struck 
him  as  suggestive  of  dangerous  mischief  going  on  in 
her  mind  ;  but  when  she  turned  her  bright  little  face 
towards  him  it  would  have  been  quite  impossible 


A   STAR-CHAMBER  MATTER.  233 

for  him  to  suspect  envy,  hatred,  malice,  and  all  un- 
charitableness,  behind  that  pretty  mask  of  rose  and 
white  complexion  and  blue  eyes.  Besides,  if  she 
drew  him  into  a  morass,  she  never  left  him  there  to 
flounder  alone,  but  was  certain  to  extricate  him, 
even  at  the  risk  of  getting  into  deeper  mire  herself. 
She  never  expected  anything  of  him  except  sympa- 
thy ;  so  now  when  she  behaved,  as  at  present,  with 
an  impulse  and  vehemence  rather  uncalled  for  by 
the  occasion,  it  was  his  habit  to  reflect  that  she  knew 
very  well  what  she  was  about.  He  hated  the 
trouble,  but  he  admired  her  energy. 

As  they  neared  the  garden  Lilly  paused.  A  broad 
walk  ran  to  the  summer-house  from  the  side-piazza, 
bordered  by  wide  flower-beds,  which,  approaching 
the  arbor,  emerged  into  an  elaborate  arrangement  of 
circles,  triangles,  and  squares,  all  bedded  with 
summer  and  autumn  annuals  and  perennials ;  conse- 
quently there  was  a  wide  space  which  the  two  con- 
spirators could  not  cross  unseen.  Lilly  had  hoped 
to  get  behind  some  of  the  shrubberies  before  Cecil's 
slow  saunter  had  brought  her  to  this  place.  But 
not  so.  Five  minutes  later,  however,  Lilly  could  not 
sufficiently  congratulate  herself  that  she  had  not  left 
the  gloom  of  the  grapery  ;  for,  as  Cecil  strolled  down 
the  path,  Medhurst,  as  we  have  already  noted,  came 
out  of  the  summer-house,  and  the  two  met,  not  six 
yards  away  from  Lilly.  She  could  hear  their  voices, 
but  not  their  words  ;  but  what  were  words?  It  was 
enough  to  see  what  was  going  on.  If  there  was 
anything  Lilly  abhorred  it  was  an  underhand  action. 
Frankness,  candor,  and  light,  being  the  elements 
she  lived  in,  it  grieved,  it  even  revolted,  her  to  wit- 


234  4  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

ness  this  clandestine  meeting  between  Cecil  and 
her  father's  secretary.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
that  the  stolen  meeting  had  been  arranged.  And 
since  such  iniquities  were  successful  she  could  not 
sufficiently  applaud  her  own  foresight  in  coming 
to  assure  herself  exactly  how  affairs  stood. 

A  trial  to  her  nerves  was  in  store  for  her,  how- 
ever. While  she  stood  using  every  glimmer  of  the 
lessening  light  to  see  what  was  going  on,  apparently 
without  signal,  preparation,  or  warning,  Medhurst, 
who  the  second  before  had  taken  Cecil's  hand  in  his, 
all  at  once  changed  his  tactics,  and,  making  a  mighty 
jump,  cleared  the  flower-beds  at  a  bound,  and  strode 
into  the  grapery,  upsetting  Arthur,  who  was  bal- 
ancing himself  meditatively  on  one  foot,  and  wish- 
ing he  could  light  a  cigar,  by  way  of  passing  the 
time. 

"You  prying  rascal!"  muttered  Medhurst, 
"  what  are  you  doing  here?  " 

But  he  waited  for  no  answer,  and  strode  on, 
leaving  Arthur  to  gather  himself  and  his  dignity  up 
together  as  he  best  might.  And  Lilly's  lover  was 
so  confounded  by  the  unexpected  turn  of  events 
that  he  hardly  knew  how  to  do  either,  and  sat  on 
the  moss  gazing  at  Lilly,  with  a  blind  rage  at  some- 
thing, he  knew  hardly  what.  It  might  be  a  mistake, 
but  how  was  he  to  ignore  a  mistake  ?  He  expected 
a  full  and  complete  apology  from  the  author  of  it  at 
once,  and  said  to  himself  he  did  not  know  what 
would  happen  if  Medhurst  did  not  come  instantly 
and  humble  himself  before  him.  Besides  humilit}1 
from  Medhurst  he  had  a  right  to  expect  full  and 
complete  sympathy  from  Lilly  ;  but  that  young  lady 


A   STAR-CHAMBER  MATTER.  235 

was  too  much  engrossed  by  the  developments  of 
the  situation  to  waste  feeling  upon  him  at  that 
moment. 

"Hush!"  she  whispered  imperiously  at  his  ex- 
clamation; "Hush!"  and  enforced  the  command 
with  a  frowning  brow  and  a  raised  forefinger. 
Everything  has  its  limits,  and  Arthur  felt  the  floods 
of  bitterness  surge  over  his  soul.  It  was  bad 
enough  to  be  led  about  by  Lilly  like  a  dog,  but  he 
certainly  had  no  intention  of  letting  other  people 
treat  him  like  a  dog. 

To  do  Lilly  justice,  she  felt  for  her  lover  thus 
ignominiously  upset  by  Medhurst  in  his  hasty  re- 
treat ;  but  then  she  saw  that  he  had  been  taken  for 
the  gardener's  boy,  or  some  understrapper  about  the 
place,  and  she  found  relief  in  this  erroneous  notion. 
When  she  and  Arthur  were  on  their  way  back  to 
the  house  she  tried  to  make  it  clear  to  him  that  he 
must  forgive  the  accident,  and  cherish  no  bitter  or 
vindictive  feelings  in  consequence.  And  at  Arthur's 
indignant  declaration,  that  he  was  going  to  knock 
Medhurst  down  the  next  time  he  saw  him,  she  inter- 
posed all  sorts  of  warnings,  threats,  and  entreaties. 

"  He  must  never  know  who  it  was ;  it  would 
look  very  queer  if  we  were  discovered  to  have  been 
listening  there." 

"  It  would  look  very  queer  if  I  allowed  myself  to 
be  knocked  down  by  a  secretary  fellow,  a  mere  " — 

"  But,  don't  you  see,  Arthur,  that  we  could  not 
explain." 

"  I  don't  want  to  explain,  — I  want  him  to  ex- 
plain," persisted  Arthur,  in  whose  brain,  for  once,  a 
clear  idea  was  working  with  a  sure  leaven. 


236  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Lilly  was  in  the  habit  of  fitting  her  lover  out 
with  the  ideas  he  was  to  express,  like  a  child  who 
dresses  her  doll  with  the  clothes  she  Chooses  her  to 
wear.  She  generally  told  him  how  any  fresh  cir- 
cumstance was  to  strike  him,  and  had  a  wonderful 
knack  of  supplying  his  mental  deficiencies  out  of  the 
storehouse  of  her  quick  fancy.  Now,  however,  he 
had  gained  a  vivid  and  a  personal  idea,  and  she 
could  not  dispossess  him  of  it ;  and  for  once  she 
was  compelled  to  feel  her  lack  of  power,  and  to 
realize  that  if,  at  exactly  the  right  moment,  she  had 
offered  some  gentle  and  affectionate  commiseration 
for  his  scraped  knee  and  bruised  shin  she  might 
have  lost  none  of  her  usual  advantages. 

She  hastened  with  her  story,  however,  to  her  aunt, 
and  put  an  end  to  all  the  hopes  that  had  been 
agitating  that  good  lady's  bosom  at  the  thought 
that  Cecil  was  walking  in  the  garden  with  Rodney 
Heriot,  by  moonlight,  and  gave  her,  instead,  a  night 
of  excruciating  disappointment.  Certainly,  nothing 
could  well  be  more  tantalizing  than  Medhurst's  un- 
necessary and  uncalled-for  intrusion  into  the  little 
idyl  which  had  begun,  and  was  going  on  charmingly 
before  he  came  to  spoil  everything.  But  yet  Mrs. 
Haxtoun  blamed  herself.  She  had  allowed  insig- 
nificant impediments  and  fanciful  objections  to 
stand  in  her  way  when  she  should  have  struck  a 
swift  and  effectual  blow,  and  sent  the  young  man 
out  of  the  house.  Her  timidity  concerning  her 
husband  had  amounted  to  treachery  towards  her 
children's  best  interests.  Her  most  powerful  motive 
was  overcome  by  the  more  feminine  bias  of  wish- 
ing to  please  her  husband  and  humor  his  self-love. 


A   STAR-CHAMBER  MATTER.  237 

Lying  by  his  side,  all  that  short  summer  night,  Mrs. 
Haxtoun  thought,  with  impatience,  of  the  many 
problems  of  her  married  life,  and  had  an  especial 
scorn  for  her  feeble  good-nature  and  general  incom- 
petence. She  had  begun  by  flattering  his  illusions  ; 
by  listening  as  if,  when  he  opened  his  lips,  he  spoke 
the  profoundest  wisdom ;  had  fed  his  vanity  and 
pampered  his  infirmities,  until  he  fairly  believed 
that  the  end  of  her  life  was  to  answer  his  prepos- 
terous claims  upon  her  concession  and  endurance. 
He  felt  as  if  he  were  the  family  aggregate,  and  the 
other  three,  nearest  and  dearest  to  him,  lived  on  his 
thoughts,  fattened  on  what  he  liked,  and  cheerfully 
abjured  what  he  abjured.  And  why  should  he  not 
thus  delude  himself?  Had  she  not  given  up  every- 
thing? Had  she  not  taught  her  children  that  they 
must  cheerfully  yield  to  their  papa,  lest  he  should 
possibly  find  things  going  wrong,  and  be  depressed 
and  put  into  a  bad  temper?  When  he  intimated  to 
his  wife  that  he  swayed  the  universe  a  little,  had 
she  not,  with  the  sweetest  cajolery,  intimated  that  the 
universe  might  well  be  swa3'ed  by  such  a  man  ?  If 
he  made  himself  disagreeable  in  society,  with  all  the 
clearest  consciousness  in  her  own  mind  that  he  was 
cutting  a  bad  figure,  did  she  not  blame  all  the  world, 
and  reinstate  him  in  his  own  esteem  ? 

Ah,  how  hard  it  was,  thought  poor  Mrs.  Haxtoun, 
to  draw  the  line  ;  to  love,  and  give  all,  and  do  all ; 
to  suppress  all  personal  sensitiveness  and  inclina- 
tion, and  widen  every  impulse  until  it  became  a 
beneficent  river  of  sympathy  for  one's  husband,  and 
yet  not  make  the  balance  of  things  go  wrong ! 
When  Mr.  Haxtoun  turned  on  his  pillow  that  morn- 


238  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

ing,  and  found  his  wife  gone  from  her  place,  he 
little  knew  how  her  night  had  been  spent.  Every- 
body who  lives  with  us  has  an  account-book  of  our 
doings  and  strivings,  which  they  add  up  from  time 
to  time,  balancing  them  against  their  own  perform- 
ances, rarely  making  out  much  in  our  favor,  and 
generally  putting  down  a  tremendous  deficit  to  square 
our  account.  But  Mr.  Haxtoun  had  never  found  this 
out ;  and  that  his  wife  was  given  to  this  sort  of  debit 
and  credit  kind  of  thing,  and  was  about  to  right  mat- 
ters at  last,  was  far  from  being  vividly  realized  by 
his  waking  imagination. 

She  was  not  beside  him,  and  this  absence  stirred 
an  idea  that  it  might  be  late  ;  but,  upon  looking  at 
his  watch,  he  discovered  that  it  was  unusually  early. 
He  had  half  an  hour  to  lie  and  meditate  before  he 
need  bestir  himself  for  bath  and  toilet.  Manjr  a 
great  author  has  done  half  his  work  of  the  day  when 
he  was  lying  in  bed ;  and  Mr.  Haxtoun,  now,  at 
once,  without  dribbling  and  wasting  his  fresh  powers, 
turned  his  mind  to  the  composition  of  a  nobly  turned 
paragraph  for  the  opening  of  his  tenth  chapter,  of 
which  the  heading  and  title  had  been  written  the  day 
previous.  He  lay  repeating  various  formulas  to 
himself,  rehearsing  them  over  and  over,  satisfying 
his  ear  concerning  their  melody  and  rhythm,  adding, 
rejecting,  and  qualifying.  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  who  had 
risen  at  sunrise,  and  had  been  sitting,  unnerved  and 
faint,  from  want  of  sleep,  in  the  bay-windowof  the- 
hall,  reading  the  morning  service  and  the  lessons 
of  the  day,  came  in  presently,  and  stood,  for  a 
moment,  listening  to  the  preamble  :  — 

"  It  must  be  admitted  that,  although  extravagant 


A   STAR-CHAMBER  MATTER.  239 

pretensions  have  dazzled  and  carried  away  a  certain 
order  of  minds,  indifferent  to  the  whole  system  and 
direction  of  close  logic,  and  to  the  collected  results 
of  the  best  and  maturest  thought  of  ages,  the 
knowledge  it  has  taken  centuries  to  accumulate." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Haxtoun  experienced  the  need 
of  a  secretary  ;  it  was  difficult  to  keep  both  the  roll 
and  the  sense,  and  to  look  up  and  see  his  wife  at 
this  juncture  was  a  happy  condition  of  affairs. 

"  Good-morning,  dearest  Jenny,"  said  he.  "  Just 
oblige  me  by  taking  those  tablets,  and  writing 
down  this  sentence.  I  don't  wish  to  lose  it."  And 
he  began  again  to  roll  forth,  with  appropriate  elocu- 
tion, "  It  must  be  admitted  that,  although  extrava- 
gant pretensions  have  dazzled  and  carried  away  a 
certain  order  of  minds,  which  —  which  —  which  — 
to  —  how  did  I  have  it?  A  certain  order  of  minds, 
to  whom  —  how  was  it?  My  dear  Jenn}^,  how  un- 
luckjr  that  j'ou  should  have  interrupted  me  at  that 
particular  moment !  1  woke  up  with  the  most  un- 
usual flow  of  ideas,  and  now  they  seem  quite  upset. 
Let  me  begin  again.  It  must  be  admitted  that, 
although  extravagant  pretensions  have  dazzled  and 
carried  away  a  certain  order  of  minds,  indifferent  to 
the  whole  system  and  direction  of  close  logic,  and 
the  collected  results  of  the  best  and  maturest 
thought  of  ages,  the  knowledge  it  has  taken  cen- 
turies to  accumulate,  —  that  all  makes  good  sense, 
does  it  not,  my  dear?" 

"I  really  do  not  know,"  said  Mrs.  Haxtoun, 
tablet  in  hand,  plaintively  and  querulously.  "  The 
sentence  sounds  to  me  already  very  long,  and  it 
seems  to  be  only  just  begun." 


240  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  "When  a  writer  wishes  to  work  out  certain  care- 
ful results,  which  he  has  carried  through  heats  of 
controversy,  he  cannot  sum  up  the  thing  like  a 
mere  general  theorem,  which  nobody  wishes  to  dis- 
pute. Profound  meditations  like  mine,  complete 
absorption  in  one  grand,  central  idea,  to  which 
everything  leads,  and  from  which  everything  di- 
verges, —  make  the  perfection  of  a  style.  I  have 
been  much  struck  by  Medhurst's  conversion  to  my 
ideas.  At  first,  he  was  all  for  brevity ;  wanted  to 
strike  out  this  and  curtail  that.  He  was  bitten  by  the 
mania  for  paragraph  writing,  which  our  journalists 
have  taken  from  the  French,  I  have  taught  him 
better." 

"  My  dear-,  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  Mr. 
Medhurst,"  said  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  with  a  vigor  and 
alacrity  which  might  have  startled  her  husband,  had 
he  not  been  engrossed. 

"  We  have  not  finished  that  sentence,  Jenny.  I 
had  it  quite  worked  out  iu  my  mind  before  you  came 
in.  Hereafter,  I  think  I  will  have  the  tablets  lie  here, 
by  my  watch,  so  that  I  can  put  my  hand  on  them 
the  first  thing.  I  lose  many  valuable  ideas  from 
not  jotting  them  down  on  the  instant ;  I  "  — 

"  Leonard,"  said  Mrs.  Haxtouu,  in  a  perfect 
agony  of  nervousness,  "  there  is  something  I  wish 
particularly  to  say  to  you." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that  I  am  quite  to  lose  all 
that  inspiration  ?  If  you  should  go  away  for  about 
ten  minutes  I  have  no  idea  but  what  I  could  get  it 
back;  I"- 

"  Dear  Leonard,  what  I  have  to  say  is  most  im- 
portant "  — 


A   STAR-CHAMBER  MATTER.  241 

Mr.  Haxtoun  waved  his  hand  and  tried  to  smile. 

"  Say  on,  my  dear,"  said  he.  "  I  have  got  a 
headache  already ;  but  no  matter.  I  suppose  it  is 
something  about  some  trifling  household  matter, 
about  which  I  have  neither  knowledge  nor  theory." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  impressive^ ;  "it  is 
about  your  daughter." 

"About  Cecil?  Surely  there  is  nothing  which 
calls  for  a  tragic  face  in  anything  Cecil  has  done." 

"  It  is  about  Cecil  and  Mr.  Medhurst,"  whispered 
Mrs.  Haxtoun.  "  O  Leonard !  if  you  love  me,  if 
you  care  for  me  and  my  peace  of  mind  in  any  degree, 
send  that  young  man  out  of  the  house." 

"  A  most  exemplary  young  man,  —  a  most  pleas- 
ing and  agreeable  fellow,  —  a  most  valuable  acquisi- 
tion," said  Mr.  Haxtoun,  in  a  tone  of  the  liveliest 
conviction.  "  Never  in  my  life  have  I  seen  anything 
equal  to  his  capacity  for  work,  his  ready  acquisition 
and  assimilation  of  ideas.  And  I  can  trust  him 
better  almost  than  I  can  myself,  —  he  is  never  run 
away  with  by  silly  conceits  and  half-digested  theories  ; 
he  makes  no  mistakes  ;  he  says  all  the  time,  when  my 
imagination  threatens  to  run  away  with  me,  —  '  Give 
me  facts,  facts,  facts,  facts.' " 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  to  whom  these 
statements  were  sufficiently  conclusive  in  their  way, 
but  did  not  touch  the  point,  "  I  dare  say  he  may  be 
useful  to  3'ou  ;  but  he  is  making  love  to  Cecil." 

"  Oh,  no,  Jenny  !  Wh}T,  when  has  he  any  time? 
He  is  utterly  taken  up  with  the  book.  Last  night, 
now,  I  left  him  writing  hard  at  half-past  eleven,  and 
he  said  he  had  at  least  an  hour's  work  before  him. 
I  have  never  heard  him  speak  of  Cecil  "  — 


242  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

' '  Speak  of  her !  Why  should  he  speak  of  her  ? 
"What  right  has  he  even  to  look  at  her?  " 

"  But  he  does  not  look  at  her.     He  "  — 

"  Leonard,  which  do  3"ou  think  the  better  judge 
of  a  situation  like  this,  a  woman,  a  mother,  —  all 
the  time  on  the  alert  for  her  daughter's  happiness, 
—  or"  — 

"  My  dear  Jenny,  I  know  my  own  powers  of  ob- 
servation. I  am  not  a  dry  bookworm.  Although 
I  am  a  writer,  and  am  at  work  upon  a  book  re- 
lating to  abstruse  and  curious  facts,  traditions, 
and  theories,  the  real  force  and  power  which  give 
me  inspiration  come  from  my  swift  insight,  my  un- 
erring knowledge  of  character,  my  absolutely  feminine 
instincts.  If  Medhurst  had  a  thought  of  anything 
beyond  the  Aryan  epics  I  should  long  since  have 
discovered  it.  He  throws  himself  into  the  labor 
with  an  intensity,  an  abandon,  which  proves  conclu- 
sively that  no  romantic  fancies  have  the  least  power 
over  him.  Not  that  I  should  especially  object  to 
his  marrying  Cecil ;  it  might "  — 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  could  have  shrieked,  if  all  her  ac- 
tions were  not  governed  by  the  most  absolute  good 
taste  and  quietness.  She  felt  dizzy  with  wrath, 
mortification,  and  a  growing  sense  of  the  difficulty 
of  her  undertaking. 

"  It  might,"  he  pursued,  after  taking  a  compre- 
hensive view  of  the  situation,  "  be  a  great  help  and 
convenience  to  have  Medhurst  always  at  hand  to 
help  on  my  great "  — 

Mr.  Haxtoun  paused  abruptly,  happening  for  the 
first  time  to  observe  something  in  his  wife's  face  and 
manner  which  perplexed  him.  It  occurred  to  him 


A   STAE-CHAMBER  MATTER.  243 

that  she  was  at  one  moment  flushed,  and  the  next 
pale  ;  that  she  seemed  to  be  trembling  ;  that  she  was 
charged  with  some  mission',  or  actuated  by  some 
idea,  which  agitated  her. 

"Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!'*  he  exclaimed.  "What 
is  it,  Jenny?  It  gives  me  a  palpitation  of  the  heart 
to  have  disagreeable  subjects  forced  upon  me  before 
breakfast.  Nothing  that  I  eat  will  digest.  I  shall 
have  an  uncomfortable  day,  and  I  shall  not  sleep  to- 
night. You  know  that  I  am  always  ready  to  give 
you  the  fullest  S3rmpathy  ;  but  it  realty  seems  to  me 
that  you  ought  to  consult  my  wretched  state  of 
health  a  little  in  your  times  and  seasons." 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  quite  broke  down.  These  recur- 
rent demands  for  apology  and  self-justification 
quenched  her  spirit.  Still  she  resolved  to  con- 
centrate herself,  and  make  an  attack. 

"Dear  Leonard,"  she  exclaimed,  with  tears, 
"  there  are  times  when  we  must  forget  ourselves ; 
when  we  cannot  allow  our  love  of  ease  and  self- 
indulgence  to  rob  us  of  our  self-respect.  It  will  not 
do  to  be  monomaniacs  with  one  fixed  idea,  and  wear 
blinkers,  which  permit  us  to  see  only  one  spot 
in  the  world." 

Mr.  Haxtoun,  who  so  far  had  been  bolstered  up 
by  the  pillows,  sat  up  in  bed. 

"  A  monomaniac,  with  one  fixed  idea,"  he  repeated. 
"I  —  I  don't  quite  understand  you,  Jenny." 

"  Don't  fancy  I  meant  anything  personal.     I "  — 

"Oh,  no!  A  monomaniac,  with  one  fixed  idea," 
he  said  again,  the  force  of  the  expression  gathering 
strength  by  the  repetition  of  jt  aloud.  "  Blinkers, 
which  permit  me  to  see  only  one  spot  in  the  world  "  — 


244  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  had  concentrated  her  powers  with 
a  vengeance.  She  had  not  only  struck  the  arrow 
home,  but  had  hammered  it  in.  A  little  bitterness 
had  been  gathering  in  the  good  lady's  heart  during 
all  these  years  of  self-repression  ;  she  may  have  re- 
lieved herself  at  times  by  little  mental  epigram- 
matic touches,  and  had  her  revenge  upon  her  husband 
by  a  sort  of  terse  criticism  of  his  failings.  But  she 
hardly  knew  herself  when  she  uttered  them  aloud. 

" My  dear  Leonard,"  she  faltered,  I"  — 

"  Suppose,  Jenny,"  said  Mr.  Haxtoun,  with  awful 
majesty,  "  we  should  give  up  recriminations  and  in- 
vective, and  regard  the  subject  in  hand.  There  was 
something,  perhaps,  you  wanted  to  ask  me  ;  if  not, 
I  think  if  you  will  step  in  the  next  room  I  will  get 
up." 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  felt  lost  in  infinite  dismay  at  her 
own  perverse  temper,  and  thoroughly  realized  that 
she  had  injured  her  cause.  She  at  last  had  the  field 
to  herself,  and  her  husband  was  ready  to  listen ; 
but  her  story,  when  it  came  out,  was  disjointed, 
incoherent,  meaningless.  When  he  questioned  her, 
as  he  did  with  merciless  skill,  she  perpetually  found 
herself  in  a  maze  of  contradictions  and  uncertainties. 
When  he  asked  for  facts,  she  had  no  facts.  She 
knew  of  no  word  Medhurst  had  said  to  her  daughter 
which  might  not  be  spoken  before  all  the  world ; 
and  yet  she  felt  so  certain  that  something  the  young 
man  had  said,  something  the  young  man  had  done, 
had  tricked  the  young  girl's  heart  away.  Thus 
looked  at,  any  trifle  had  seemed  portentous ;  but, 
when  offered  to  this  stern  Radamanthus,  it  did  not 
carry  a  feather's  weight. 


A   STAR-CHAMBER  MATTER.  245 

' '  I  really  cannot  see  what  your  objection  to  my 
secretary  is,  my  dear,"  Mr.  Haxtoun  finally  said. 
"  Cecil  speaks  to  him  occasional!}',  as  if  he  were  a 
living  human  being.  She  went  rowing  on  the  river 
with  him  by  her  own  invitation.  If  she  met  him  in 
the  garden,  last  night,  she  seems  to  have  been  look- 
ing for  him." 

"  He  is  too  good-looking  to  have  about  the  house," 
she  interposed. 

"  If  your  sex  is  so  weak-minded  that  the  presence 
of  a  good-looking  young  man  cannot  be  borne  "  — 

"My  dear!" 

It  was  long  past  the  time  when  Mr.  Haxtoun  was 
in  the  habit  of  emerging  from  his  room,  carefully 
shaven  and  dressed,  for  his  turn  on  the  piazza,  or 
terrace,  before  breakfast ;  and  his  wife  began  to 
understand  that  it  was  better  for  her  to  retire 
and  leave  the  contest  a  drawn  battle.  Her  husband 
was  soft  and  plaintive  ;  but  she  knew  his  look,  which 
meant  a  refusal  to  accept  any  opinion  or  valuation 
except  his  own,  and  that  he  was  irritated,  and  on 
the  lookout  for  pretexts  for  offence. 

"You  will  think  of  what  I  have  told  you,  I  am 
sure,  Leonard,"  she  said,  offering  him  a  chance  for 
a  truce.  "  There  is  Mr.  Heriot,  almost  on  the  point 
of  declaring  himself  "  — 

"  Mr.  Heriot  I  should  not  consider  an  eligible 
son-in-law." 

Mr.  Haxtoun  certainly  had  a  genius  for  torturing 
his  wife.  She  had  carefully  abstained  from  bring- 
ing in  Rodney  Heriot's  name  before,  lest  it  might 
do  mischief ;  but  she  had  believed  it  wise  for  her  to 
offer  this  suggestion  just  as  she  was  on  the  point  of 


246  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

retreating,  that  ia  his  mental  survey  of  the  situation 
that  argument  might  have  the  fullest  force. 

She  could  say  no  more,  and  she  went  out  without 
another  word.  It  quite  broke  her  heart  to  see  how 
little  sympathy  there  was  between  her  and  her  hus- 
band on  vital  questions.  Mr.  Heriot  not  an  eligible 
son-in-law  !  No  special  objection  to  Cecil's  marry- 
ing Medhurst ! 


MB.   HAXTOUWS  DIPLOMACY.          247 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MR.  HAXTOUN'S  DIPLOMACY. 

r  I  ^HREE  hours  later  Mr.  Haxtoun  had  in  a  meas- 
J-  ure  regained  his  mental  equilibrium,  which 
he  had  lost  when  confronted  with  the  spectre 
raised  by  his  wife's  words.  For  a  moment  it  had 
taken  on  a  shape  which  was  a  hideous  caricature  of 
himself,  and  he  had,  with  a  bewildered  sense,  recog- 
nized the  monomaniac  with  a  fixed  idea,  wearing 
blinkers  which  hid  everything  in  the  world  except 
the  spot  before  his  own  eyes.  But,  after  dressing 
with  unusual  haste,  breakfasting  with  what  poor 
appetite  he  might,  and  smoking  his  cigar  on  the 
terrace  outside,  impressions  regained  their  force ; 
the  quick  currents  of  irritation  along  his  nerves  of 
sensation  subsided.  His  wife  came  and  addressed 
him  with  timidity  and  longing  in  her  glance  and 
tone,  and,  though  he  still  felt  an  inarticulate  and 
smouldering  resentment,  he  answered  with  right 
royal  condescension.  She  hated  to  differ  with  him, 
no  matter  how  just  her  quarrel  might  be  ;  the  interest 
and  sweetness  of  life  were  flatly  dispersed  unless  she 
could  feel  that  he  was  easy  and  comfortable.  Mr. 
llaxtoun  said  this,  and  felt  that  he  must  be  mag- 
nanimous. There  was  clearly  a  right  and  wrong  in 
every  subject,  and  he  had  never  known  anybody  to 


248  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

be  in  the  right  who  differed  from  himself.  Still, 
women  had  their  little  ambitions,  their  little  personal 
inclinations,  and  a  man  should  not  inflict  too  bitter 
a  disappointment  upon  them.  The  pretty  creatures 
needed  to  be  served  when  they  might  be,  dominated 
only  when  they  must  be. 

Accordingly,  after  answering  his  wife's  little 
phrases  about  the  flowers  and  the  gardener's  new 
schemes,  he  said,  averting  his  eyes  a  little :  — 

"By  the  way,  Jenny,  since  you  wish  it,  I  will 
find  out  from  Medhurst  what  he  has  been  doing  in 
that  matter,  and  if  "  — 

"  And,  if  it  is  as  I  fear,  will  you  not  insist  that 
he  shall  go  away,  at  least  for  a  time  ?  " 

Mr.  Haxtoun  nodded.  "  That  might  be  best. 
I  will  speak  to  him,  at  any  rate,  and  let  you  know 
what  he  says." 

This  undertaking  did  not  dismay  the  old  gentle- 
man. He  knew  his  own  diplomatic  gifts,  and  that 
he  was  the  shrewdest  and  most  experienced  of 
men  where  any  knowledge  of  character  or  motives 
was  concerned.  He  burned,  too,  with  zeal,  to  re- 
instate himself  in  his  wife's  good  opinion,  and 
could  predict  with  scientific  precision  exactly 
what  he  should  have  to  tell  her.  He  disliked  to 
break  up  his  secretary's  morning  work  ;  but  routine 
must  occasionally  give  way,  and  he  hoped,  by  this 
concession,  to  secure  a  peaceful  life  for  the  future. 

Medhurst  was  at  his  desk  when  Mr.  Haxtoun 
entered  the  study,  and  looked  up  with  a  salutation. 

"  Hard  at  it!"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  How 
little  those  about  us  know  of  what  is  going  on 
within  these  four  walls !  The  chattering  of  the 


ME.   HAXTOUN'S  DIPLOMACY.          249 

parlor  seems  unimportant  enough,  looked  at  from 
our  point  of  view." 

"  You  were  so  late  I  began  to  be  afraid  you 
might  be  ill,"  said  Medhurst,  not  replying  to  his 
patron's  remark. 

"I  am  not  well;  I  am,  in  fact,  more  than  half 
ill.  I  was  disturbed  soon  after  I  awoke,  and  that 
always  does  me  harm.  There  is  a  painful  buzz- 
ing in  my  head,  and  I  feel  languid." 

"  It  is  a  warm  morning." 

"  Heat  agrees  with  me,"  said  Mr.  Haxtoun, 
solemnly,  and  at  once  took  up  the  subject  physio- 
logically. Medhurst  could  not  possibly  imagine 
what  his  employer  meant  by  coming  in  at  that  hour 
of  the  day,  planting  himself  in  a  chair  so  close 
to  him  that  their  knees  almost  touched,  and  at 
once  insisting  upon  conversation.  He  had  two 
passions,  —  one  for  his  book,  and  the  other  for  in- 
terminable harangues ;  but  while  in  the  study  it 
was  his  habit  to  adhere  strictly  to  the  matter  in 
hand.  But  now  he  was  evidently  bent  on  dis- 
course. Medhurst  took  up  his  sheets,  laid  them 
down,  picked  imaginary  straws  out  of  his  ink- 
stand, took  a  new  pen,  tried  it,  and  exchanged  it 
for  another.  He  yawned ;  he  sighed ;  he  looked 
out  of  the  window,  and  affected  to  be  profoundly 
interested  in  his  own  thoughts.  But  Mr.  Hax- 
toun's  flow  of  dissertation  never  once  stopped. 
He  at  first  discussed  his  health,  with  the  nicest 
and  most  particular  account  of  the  condition  of 
his  various  organs ;  and,  after  proving  conclu- 
sively that  he  had  a  chronic  disease  in  each,  he 
did  not  refrain  from  telling  with  what  strength  of 


250  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

mind  he  bore  these  inevitable  ills,  and  with  what 
fortitude  he  put  suffering  by,  and  applied  himself 
to '  his  great  work.  Not,  however,  that  with  all 
his  absorption  in  the  great  question  concerning 
the  identity  of  the  Aryan  epics,  he  lived  an  egois- 
tic, isolated  existence,  cut  off  from  the  joys  and 
sorrows  of  his  family  and  his  kind.  He  was  no 
mere  shadow  of  his  great  idea ;  he  was  a  whole 
man,  heart,  mind,  sense,  all  open  to  beautiful  and 
vivid  impressions  of  life. 

"What  can  he  be  driving  at?"  thought  Med- 
hurst  within  himself  ;  but  he  listened  imperturbably, 
making  no  attempt  to  stem  the  tide  of  eloquence, 
save  by  an  occasional  "  Certainly,"  or,  "  It  would 
seem  so."  The  young  man,  as  he  sat  there,  cast 
an  occasional  glance  from  the  window,  and  saw 
Cecil  on  the  lawn  with  RodnejT  Heriot.  There 
was  to  be  an  archery  and  tennis  party  the  fol- 
lowing day,  and  they,  with  Alec,  were  directing  the 
gardener  how  to  lay  out  the  grounds.  Medhurst 
was  not  unused  to  this  sort  of  spectacle,  which 
occasionally  made  him  feel  like  a  school-boy,  shut 
out  of  the  sunshiny  place  where  his  mates  were 
pla3"ing ;  but,  as  a  rule,  he  was  compelled  to  be 
rigorously  absorbed  in  the  work  before  him,  and 
had  no  time  to  indulge  in  fancies.  Now,  with  his 
faculties  quite  unemployed,  except  in  pondering 
the  problem  of  Mr.  Haxtoun's  unusual  mood,  he 
allowed  his  thoughts  to  settle  upon  Cecil,  and  let 
his  memory  bring  up  one  picture  of  her  after 
another.  Comparing  his  late  impressions  of  her 
with  his  first,  the  effect  was  complicated  and  in- 
harmonious. She  puzzled  him,  and,  let  him  try 


MB.   HAXTOUN'S  DIPLOMACY.          251 

as  he  might  to  attribute  the  fluctuations  in  her  be- 
havior to  girlish  caprice,  he  could  riot  make  that 
account  for  all  he  had  seen  in  her  face,  in  the  swift 
withdrawing  of  her  eyes,  in  the  unaccountable 
changes  of  color. 

Remembering  certain  of  her  speeches  he  was 
ready  to  accuse  her  of  coquetry,  and  at  the  recur- 
rence of  this  idea  something  hard  and  bitter 'came 
into  his  mind  against  her.  The  thought  touched 
him  to  the  quick,  and  he  experienced  a  rancor, 
which  showed  that,  in  spite  of  the  philosophy  and 
indifference  with  which  he  tried  to  accept  the  acci- 
dents of  his  life,  he  was,  in  point  of  fact,  just  as 
youthful,  susceptible,  and  suspicious  as  ever,  and 
at  the  mercy  of  every  adverse  wind  which  might 
chance  to  blow.  To  exchange  this  notion  of  Cecil's 
coquetry  for  another,  namely,  that  she  might  feel 
some  particular  interest  in  him,  —  pity,  sympathy, 
what  not,  —  was  equally  disturbing. 

By  this  time  Mr.  Haxtouu  began  to  think  that  he 
had  said  enough  in  the  way  of  preamble,  and  that  his 
various  digressions  had  taken  a  sufficient  range  to 
allow  him  to  slip  with  ease  into  almost  any  fresh 
channel. 

"  And  how  is  it  with  you,  my  young  friend?"  he 
now  proceeded  to  ask  ;  "  what  is  your  outlook  upon 
life?" 

"  Eh,  what?  "  faltered  Medhurst,  brought  back  to 
present  realities  by  the  subsidence  of  the  continuous 
droning  murmur,  and  the  inflection  of  the  final 
sentence,  which  seemed  to  denote  that  a  question 
had  been  asked.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  —  I  did  not 
quite  catch  your  last  sentence." 


252  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  I  was  inquiring,"  resumed  Mr.  Haxtoun,  "  how 
you  regarded  these  things  ;  what  was  your  estimate 
of  the  future ;  what  you  were  eager  to  lift  the  veil 
for,  and  find  behind  it?" 

"I  assure  you,"  said  Medhurst,  dryly,  "that  I 
have  no  outlook,  —  none.  As  for  lifting  the  veil 
of  the  future  I  much  prefer  to  know  nothing  of  what 
lurks  behind  it.  Having  caught  sight  of  the  skele- 
ton I  might  be  less  easy  in  my  mind  than  I  am 
now." 

"  You  do  not  think  of  marriage?" 

"  Marriage  !  "  exclaimed  Medhurst,  angrily.  He 
looked  at  Mr.  Haxtoun,  and  began  to  believe  there 
was  something  in  all  this  more  than  met  the  ear. 
"Whom  should  I  marry?" 

Mr.  Haxtoun  had  been  gentle,  vague,  and  diffuse, 
and  to  have  what  he  liked  to  have  spread  over  a 
large  extent  of  territory,  all  at  once  centred  and 
brought  to  a  point  in  this  way,  was  almost  irritating. 
Medhurst  had  fairly  turned  upon  him  as  if  goaded 
and  stung.  "  Whom  should  I  marry? "  he  went  on, 
pressing  the  point ;  but  then,  seeing  the  dismay  ex- 
pressed in  the  old  gentleman's  face,  he  governed  his 
sudden  rage.  "I  would  tell  you,"  he  now  said, 
with  a  half-laugh,  "  if  I  thought  of  such  a  thing. 
You  have  bought  my  time,  my  services,  my  brain, 
and  I  really  consider  that  if  my  heart  were  engaged 
elsewhere  it  would  be  only  fair  to  let  you  know." 

"  There  may  be  something  in  that,"  observed 
Mr.  Haxtoun.  "Head  and  heart  could  not  well  be 
at  war  with  adyantage  to  the  work." 

"  No."  Both  seemed  to  feel  a  certain  embarrass- 
ment. Some  of  those  useful  meaningless  phrases 


MR.   HAXTOUN'S  DIPLOMACY.          253 

with  which  a  man  covers  his  purpose,  as  a  fox 
brushes  over  his  tracks  with  his  tail,  rose  to  Mr. 
Haxtoun's  lips.  He  wanted  to  carry  it  off  with  a 
little  jocularity,  and  show  the  young  man  that  it 
was  a  mere  passing  joke ;  but  something  about 
Medhurst,  sombre  and  serious,  almost  frightened 
him.  He  looked  at  him  uncomfortably,  and  said 
,not  a  word. 

' '  May  I  inquire  if  you  had  any  special  meaning 
in  putting  that  question  .to  me?  "  Medhurst  asked, 
after  a  time. 

He  hardly  knew  why  his  heart  was  beating 
strongly,  why  a  stern,  angry  bitterness  seemed  to 
actuate  him.  He  thought  it  was  because  he  re- 
sented the  intrusiveness  of  this  question  as  if  it  had 
been  an  impertinence.  But  then,  he  reflected,  Mr. 
Haxtoun  had  always  been  kind  and  friendly,  and 
had  in  every  way  made  him  feel  that  he  never 
wished  to  be  either  inquisitive  or  dictatorial. 

"  You  seem  to  take  it  as  if  I  had  introduced  some 
searching  and  powerful  question,"  Mr.  Haxtoun  now 
rallied  his  powers  sufficiently  to  make  reply.  "  Had 
you  not  been  thinking  of  marriage  you  would 
hardly  make  a  grievance  of  my  allusion  to  it.  All 
men  marry,  so  to  speak.  And  it  is  more  than  a 
little  singular  that  we  are  inclined  to  treat  the  one 
vital  fact  of  existence,  which  has  made  tradition 
and  history,  inspired  the  poets,  created  literature, 
as  if  it  were  a  trivial  incident  in  our  own  cases  to 
pooh-pooh,  and  smile  away.  I  might  cite  many 
authorities  to  prove"  — 

"  Let  me  tell  you,"  said  Medhurst,  "  as  man  to 
man,  that  I  have  been  thinking  about  marriage  of 


254  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

late ;  that  is,  whether  under  a  certain  combination 
of  circumstances  a  man  should  feel  it  his  duty  to 
offer  marriage ;  whether  it  is  cowardice  to  run 
away  from  it." 

"Run  away  from  it?"  repeated  Mr.  Haxtoun, 
blankl}-. 

"  Precisely.  I  don't  in  the  faintest  degree  believe 
that  I  am  worth  any  woman's  acceptance ;  but  my 
doubt  is,  whether  I  ought  not  to  offer  her  the  chance 
of  refusing  me." 

Mr.  Haxtoun  began  to  feel  very  ill.  His  head 
swam,  and  he  leaned  it  back  against  the  cushion 
of  his  chair.  There  was  a  little  pallor  about  his 
lips  as  he  observed,  "  You  seem  to  be  in  a  singular 
dilemma." 

There  was  something  very  strange  and  very  dis- 
quieting to  Medhurst  in  this  remark.  He  took  it  for 
granted  that  Mr.  Haxtoun  was  alluding  to  Mrs. 
Dalton,  and  his  wonder  grew  as  to  the  means  by 
which  this  unobservant  old  gentleman  had  become 
acquainted  with  his  state  of  mind. 

"  I  confess,"  said  he,  "  that  I  have  not  usually 
taken  the  subject  close  to  heart.  When  I  am  with 
her  I  occasionally  ask  myself  what  I  mean  ;  but 
when  I  am  away  from  her  I  see  clearly  euough 
that  what  she  means  is  something  quite  different 
from  binding  herself  down  to  a  poor  man.  Hon- 
estly, Mr.  Haxtoun,  I  feel  this.  I  am  one  of 
those  unlucky  devils  who  had  better  throw  himself 
into  the  sea  than  to  think  of  marrying  any  woman." 
Medhurst  spoke  with  some  heat,  and  seemed  chafed 
by  some  internal  conflict  of  feeling.  But  there  was 


ME.   HAXTOUN'S  DIPLOMACY.          255 

not  the  least  glimmering  sign  of  love  or  sentiment 
in  his  face,  or  in  his  voice. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Haxtoun,"  he  now  added,  "  that 
I  understand  your  allusion.  How  you  gained  any 
idea  of  what  I  had  supposed  was  entirely  my  own 
secret  I  will  not  ask.  If  this  hint  of  yours  had 
come  from  any  one  else  I  should  have  considered  it 
intrusive  ;  but  I  owe  it  to  you  to  be  candid.  If  you 
have  an}T  wish,  even  any  commands,  in  the  matter-, 
let  me  know  them,  and  I  will  try  to  carry  them  out. 
I  begin  to  see  what  it  all  means.  I  spoke  to  your 
daughter,  —  that  is  —  she  had  heard  something,  and 
questioned  me ;  and  Miss  Haxtoun,  no  doubt,  told 
her  mother,  and  she  "  — 

Mr.  Haxtoun's  jaw  had  fallen.  He  gazed  at 
Medhurst,  stricken  dumb. 

"  If,"  continued  Medhurst,  with  a  half-laugh, 
' '  3'ou  want  me  to  end  the  matter  by  going  over  and 
asking  her  this  moment,  whether  she  will  or  will 
not  marry  me,  I  will  do  just  what  you  say.  To  doubt 
the  situation  is  annoying  to  lookers-on.  If  she 
accepts  me  I  will  go  away ;  I  shall  need  to  make 
new  plans  at  once.  If  she  refuses  me  —  as  I  have 
not  the  smallest  doubt  she  will  —  we  can  go  on  with 
the  book  without  interruptions." 

"  Go  over  to  see  her,  —  go  over  where?  "  gasped 
Mr.  Haxtoun. 

"  I  suppose  she  is  at  Mrs.  Esters." 

"  Are  you  alluding  to  Mrs.  Dal  ton?  " 

"  I  am." 

Mr.  Haxtoun  revived ;  that  is,  he  experienced  an 
almost  intoxicating  sense  of  relief,  which  quite  over- 
came him.  He  started  up,  nervous  and  unstrung,  tit- 


256  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

taring  faintly.  He  was  too  happy  to  care  particu- 
larly about  the  vista  his  hints  might  have  opened  up 
to  Medhurst,  if  he  saw  fit  to  study  their  meaning. 
There  was  something  inspiring  to  the  old  gentle- 
man in  the  fact  that,  on  the  unique  occasion  when 
'  his  wife  had  chosen  to  assert  herself,  she  was  utterly 
in  the  wrong.  Under  the  sway  of  maternal  instinct 
everything  in  creation  is  over- bold  and  aggressive, 
and  Mrs.  Haxtoun  might  be  pardoned  for  such  an 
exuberance  of  apprehensiveness.  By  forcing  her 
husband  to  take  the  initiativ-e  against  Medhurst's 
pretensions  she  had  entangled  him  in  a  delicate 
dilemma ;  but  he  was  ready  to  forgive  her.  A  mo 
nomaniac,  with  a  fixed  idea,"  the  old  gentleman 
chuckled  to  himself.*  "  Blinkers  which  let  a  person 
see  only  one  spot  in  the  world."  He  burned  with 
impatience  to  look  up  his  wife,  and  prove  to  her,  by 
these  incontestable  confessions,  that  Medhurst  was 
on  the  point  of  offering  himself  to  Mrs.  Dalton  ; 
that,  so  far  from  being  in  love  with  XJecil,  he  had 
never  once  thought  of  her,  but  had  been  enduring  a 
conflict  of  ideas  about  the  widow,  and,  tossed  about 
and  torn  by  contrary  instincts,  had  been  almost  glad 
of  some  outside  pressure,  which  should  force  him 
into  action. 

But  before  Mr.  Haxtoun  could  rush  into  his 
wife's  presence,  and  reinstate  himself  in  her  belief 
as  a  far-seeing  and  deep-reaching  observer,  it  was 
essential  to  say  something  to  Medhurst,  who  was 
regarding  his  dead  silence  with  some  surprise. 

"  My  dear  young  friend,"  said  he,  "your  words 
tell  me  a  story,  —  a  story  which  touches  me  deeply. 
But  do  not  act  rashly.  What  you  suggest  is  a  mat- 


MR.  HAXTOUN'S  DIPLOMAGT.          257 

ter  requiring  serious  thought ;  your  feeling  of  haste 
comes  from  your  piide,  which  is  rather  exaggerated. 
By  all  means,  wait  and  see,  —  wait  and  see." 

Medhurst  stared  at  him,  frankly  puzzled.  He 
began  to  wonder  how  his  confession  had  been 
brought  about,  and  was  obliged  to  own  that  he 
had  committed  himself  without  due  provocation. 
But  the  allusion  to  marriage  had  been  so  sudden, 
so  uncalled  for,  it  had  roused  all  his  slumbering 
doubts,  dreads,  and  irritations.  Many  a  time  of  late, 
while  talking  to  Fanny  Dalton,  he  had  called  himself 
either  a  knave  or  a  sickly  sentimentalist,  and  had 
impugned  both  his  sense  and  his  honor  for  letting 
the  flirtation,  if  so  it  might  be  called,  drift  on. 
There  had  seemed  to  be  a  swiftly  piercing  intention 
in  Mr.  Haxtoun's  manner,  at  least,  afcd  Medhurst 
had  given  him  credit  for  extraordinary  subtlety. 
After  a  moment's  supreme  hesitation,  as  to  whether 
it  was  worth  while  to  try  to  make  the  matter  clearer, 
Medhurst  decided  to,  at  least,  postpone  all  further 
allusion  to  his  personal  affairs.  He  rose. 

"  Since  we  seem  to  have  taken  a  holiday,"  he  now 
said,  "  if  you  have  nothing  on  hand  at  present  I 
think  I  will  go  out  for  a  walk." 

"  Do  st>,  do  so,  by  all  means,"  returned  Mr. 
Haxtoun,  who  was  eager  Jto  end  the  interview. 

Medhurst  was  off  like  lightning,  and  the  old  gen- 
tleman,'on  his  side,  sought  his  wife  with  feet  which 
hardly  seemed  to  touch  the  earth. 


258  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

A    SONATA    BY   BEETHOVEN. 

MRS.  D ALTON  was  expending  a  good  deal  of 
time  and  earnestness  upon  the  private  theat- 
ricals. She  had  many  reasons  for  feeling  a  keener 
interest  in  them  than  others,  for  she  had  more  at 
stake.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  talking  a  good 
deal  en  Fair,  as  one  might  say,  and  floated  a 
great  many  balloons,  to  which  she  gave  only  a 
moment's  lease  of  life.  Her  idea,  however,  of 
going  on  the  stage  was  borne  up  by  a  lively 
personal  ambition,  considerable  aptitude,  and  the 
necessity  in  some  way  of  gaining  wealth  for 
herself.  She  never  read  an  item  in  the  papers 
concerning  the  almost  fabulous  amounts  made  by 
certain  successful  actresses  and  singers  of  the 
period,  without  a  spasm  of  envy  and  longing 
contracting  her  heart.  She,  too,  longed  to  have  the 
public  at  her  feet;  she  had  always  enjoyed  the 
feeling  that  she  had  spectators  when  she  merely 
crossed  the  room ;  and  to  have  not  only  an  ad- 
miring, but  a  remunerative,  audience,  —  to  have  the 
effect  of  her  wit,  grace,  and  good  looks,  paid 
down  every  night  in  gold  and  bank-bills,  —  that 
represented  for  her  the  acme  of  profitable  exist- 
ence. The  only  drawback  was  the  fact  that  she 
had  not  begun  young  enough,  and  that  the  life  of 


A  SONATA  BY  BEETHOVEN.  259 

an  actress  would  demand  incessant  energy  and 
hard  work.  She  was,  besides,  uncertain  whether 
she  had  it  in  her  to  create  a  part.  She  could 
follow,  she  could  imitate,  most  successfully ;  but 
originality  is  the  true  force. 

Thus  Rodney  Heriot's  play  had  given  her  far 
more  trouble  than  if  it  were  one  which  had 
already  been  acted,  and  concerning  which  there  were 
traditions.  He  gave  her  the  advantage  of  his 
own  views,  however ;  he  read  the  play  to  her,  and 
heard  her  read  it.  He  took  the  trouble  even  to  go 
through  certain  scenes  with  her.  The  manager 
was  to  come  shortly,  and,  after  his  arrival,  regu- 
lar rehearsals  would  be  held  twice  a  day  on  the 
stage.  The  scene-painting  had  by  this  time 
progressed  to  a  point  which  showed  that  Rodney 
was  prompt  in  performance,  at  least ;  and  to-day 
he  brought  Medhurst  in  to  show  him  what  sort  of 
effects  he  had  produced.  He  happened  to  come 
upon  the  secretary  while  he  was  idling  away  his 
day  in  the  woods.  The  truth  was  that  Medhurst, 
after  his  interview  with  Mr.  Haxtoun  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter,  had  found  his  morning  spoiled 
even  for  a  walk,  and  Rodney  had  brought  him 
along  without  much  compulsion.  The  stage  had 
been  erected  in  a  sort  of  alcove  of  the  picture- 
gallery,  where  the  water-colors  usually  hung,  and 
the  whole  main  room  was  to  become  the  auditorium. 

"Now  stand  there,"  said  Rodney,  as  they 
entered,  "  and  I  will  have  the  first  three  scenes 
displayed.  If  they  can  bear  this  mid-day  glare 
the}'  will  pass  by  lamplight." 

While  the  two  stood  at  the   door  the   swish   of 


260  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

a  long  train  was  heard  upon  the  stage,  and  Mrs. 
Dalton  came  down  from  the  left  wing,  speaking 
in  a  low,  but  clear,  tone ;  in  fact,  rehearsing  her 
part. 

"Well,  well,"  she  said,  "and  how  shall  I  re- 
ceive him  ?  There  is  so  much  in  the  first  impres- 
sion ;  let  the  heart  first  give  a  push  either  way, 
towards  love  or  disgust,  and  half  the  battle  is 
fought.  Shall  I  sit?  No;  I  would  rather  be 
moving.  I  will  walk ;  yes,  that  shall  be  it.  I'll 
walk  away  from  the  door  of  the  conservatory 
as  he  enters,  and  then  turn  back  and  meet  him. 
No,  that  might  be  too  abrupt.  I  will  be  neither 
sitting,  standing,  nor  walking  ;  I  will  be  lying  down  ; 
I  will  stretch  myself  almost  at  full  length  on  the 
crimson  couch,  with  the  cushions  behind  my  head. 
No,  I  will  not  be  quite  lying  down,  —  I  will  be 
lifting  myself  on  one  elbow,  and  one  foot  shall  be 
dangling,  for  these  are  my  prettiest  slippers  and 
stockings.  Yes,  one  foot  shall  show,  like  that,  — 
not  too  much,  not  boldly,  but  delicately,  —  and  then 
I  will  start  and  be.  surprised.  Oh,  the  surprise  will 
be  easy  to  manage,  jumping  up  with  the  conscious- 
ness that  I  was  caught  in  such  a  way !  Yes,  that 
is  best." 

Rodney  roared  with  laughter,  and  then  clapped 
his  hands. 

"Bravo!  bravo!"  he  cried;  "nothing  could  be 
better,  Fanny." 

"  Oh,  are  you  there?  "  said  Mrs.  Dalton.  "  And 
you,  too,  Cousin  Frank?  Did  it  really  sound 
well?" 

"Nothing  could  be  better.     It  seemed  as  if  we 


A  SONATA  BY  BEETHOVEN.  261 

had  stumbled  in  upon  one  of  your  own  private 
meditations." 

"  No,  I  assure  you,  I  never  have  to  try  one  thing 
after  the  other.  My  instinct  is  unerring." 

"You  always  knew  just  how  to  strike  home.  I 
brought  Medhurst  in  to  look  at  the  scenery.  Here, 
John,  just  put  up  that  first  scene,  — the  garden  and 
terrace,  and  house  behind." 

Fanny  gave  a  little  jump  from  the  stage  and 
joined  the  two  on  the  floor,  —  she  could  do  such 
things  bewitchingly,  —  while  the  servant  wheeled  the 
various  canvasses  on  and  off,  showing  first  the 
terrace  of  Mrs*  Chalcote's  house,  then  the  parlor, 
and  next  a  view  of  the  park  where  the  archery 
party  was  to  be  held.  They  were  fairly  painted,  it 
seemed  to  Medhurst. 

"  I  don't  know  what  there  is  you  can't  do, 
Heriot,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Do?  I  can't  do  anything  decently." 

"  You  have  written  a  clever  play." 

"Written  it?  It  is  a  rehash  of  Sardou,  Robert- 
son, Scribe,  and  Congreve.  There  is  hardly  an 
original  word  in  it." 

"It  is  cleverly  adapted,  at  all  events.  And  you 
certainly  painted  these  scenes." 

"  But  from  copies.  That  wood  is  a  view  of  a 
little  nook  in  Fontainebleau  forest,  and  the  terrace 
is  our  own,  —  you  noticed  that?" 

"  It  did  not  occur  to  me." 

"  You  see,  then,  what  my  skill  amounts  to." 

"  I  don't  know  how  Cousin  Frank  should  have 
any  idea  of  the  terrace,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton.  "He 
never  comes  near  the  house." 


262  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  He    will   have   to  do   so   when   the   rehearsals 
begin." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  still  count  on  me  to 
take  that  part  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do.     Nobody  else  is  available." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Medhurst ;  "  I  am  not  cer- 
tain whether  I  ought  to  or  not.  Don't  fancy  that  I 
am  making  myself  of  undue  importance  ;  but  reflect 
that  my  time  is  not  my  own." 

"  Fiddlesticks  !  "  said  Rodney.  "I'll  put  it  in  the 
right  light  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  if  you  mean 
that." 

"  I "  —  Medhurst  began . 

"  Don't  say  another  word.     I  will  go  and  put  on 
-my  blouse  and  paint  a  little.     You  can   entertain 
him,  Fanny.     He  will  stay  to  dinner." 

Medhurst  felt  the  pleasantness  of  this  easy  fash- 
ion of  hospitality.  He  was  disinclined  to  go  back 
to  the  three-o'clock  meal  at  the  Haxtouns',  and 
yielded  to  Rodney's  suggestion  with  a  good  grace. 
It  was  dim  here  and  cool ;  he  was  sitting  on  a  deeply 
cushioned  sofa,  and  was  disinclined  to  move. 
Rodney  had  quickly  slipped  into  a  suit  of  dark- 
blue  velveteen,  and,  mounted  on  a  high  stool,  was 
sketching,  with  plenty  of  boldness,  the  bank  of  a 
river,  humming  all  the  time  a  pretty  air  set  to  an 
old  madrigal. 

k'  He  is  a  wonderful  fellow,"  Medhurst  said  to 
Fanny ;  "  with  a  little  touch  of  something  or  other 
one  need  not  undertake  to  define,  he  would  have 
genius.' 

"  He  has  got  it  already.    He  has  never  had  to  use 


A  SONATA  BY  BEETHOVEN.  263 

his  powers,"  said  Faimy.  "  It  is  a  lucky  thing  for 
the  world  that  most  of  us  clever  people  are  poor." 

"Don't  count  me  in,"  said  Medhurst.  "I  have 
always  considered  that  I  might  have  been  something 
if  I  had  not  been  driven  to  earn  my  daily  bread. 
When  I  have  five  thousand  dollars  ahead  I  shall  be 
able  to  breathe.  I  can  then,  perhaps,  decide  whether 
I  will  return  to  my  early  notion  of  studying  law.  I 
may  think  best  to  do  it,  and  may  not." 

Fanny  looked  at  him  lazily. 

"  Have  you  anything  like  five  thousand  dollars?" 

"  Yes.  If  I  stay  here  six  months  longer  I  shall 
have  it  made  up.  My  book  may  help  a  little." 

"  You  have  saved  money?  " 

"All  I  could/' 

Having  said  this  Medhurst  waited  for  her  to  re- 
ply. He  had  decided  to  tell  her  so  much.  He  owed 
it  to  her,  perhaps,  to  let  her  know  whatever  thoughts 
or  expectations  he  had  concerning  his  future. 

"  How  little  that  would  amount  to  in  this  house  !  " 
Fanny  exclaimed.  "  They  are  so  awfully,  so  abomi- 
nably rich  here.  Five  thousand  dollars  seems  to  me 
a  mere  bagatelle  just  at  present,  when  I  am  used  to 
writing  Mrs.  Est6's  orders  to  her  milliners  in  Paris." 

"  This  sort  of  life  was  your  beau  ideal,  Fanny?  " 

"  Precisely." 

Medhurst  made  a  gesture  towards  Rodney,  who 
was  trolling  out,  — 

"  Since  first  I  saw  your  face,  I  resolved 
To  honor  and  renown  you." 

"  He  is  the  man  you  ought  to  have  captivated." 


264  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  And  do  you  consider  him  so  very  indifferent  to 
me?  "  Fanny  demanded,  with  an  air  of  pique. 

"  Certainly  not.  But,  considering  that  he  is  on  the 
point  of  being  engaged,  if  not  already  engaged" — 

"  Don't  you  do  some  slight  violence  to  your  own 
feelings  in  making  that  statement?  "  she  demanded, 
with  a  peculiar  smile. 

"  Violence  to  my  own  feelings?  I  do  not  know 
what  you  mean." 

"I  cannot  believe  that  you  are  absolutely  indif- 
ferent to  that  pretty  young  creature." 

The  color  came  and  went  in  Medhurst's  face. 

"  Do  not  —  do  not,  I  beg  of  you !  "  he  exclaimed, 
with  a  vehemence  that  surprised  himself. 

She  was  watching  him  closely,  and  at  his  entreaty 
a  little  trembling  flitted  across  her  features,  which 
she  seemed  unable  to  control.  She  steadied  her- 
self, however,  and  it  passed  away. 

"  The  girl  is  in  love  with  you,"  she  said,  speak- 
ing in  the  softest  possible  voice,  her  eyes  almost 
hidden  beneath  their  half-closed  lids.  'kl  saw  it 
from  the  first.  You  have  but  to  put  out  your  hand, 
and  you  could  draw  her  to  you." 

Medhurst  grew  frightfully  pale.  He  made  an 
effort  to  speak,  but  no  sound  came  from  his  lips. 
His  hat  had  fallen  to  the  floor,  and  he  stooped 
and  picked  it  up,  then  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  You  are  not  going,"  said  Fanny  ;  "  you  agreed 
to  stay." 

He  seemed  irresolute,  and  sat  down  again. 

"  Have  I  done  wrong  in  telling  you  this?  "  asked 
Fanny,  leaning  forward  and  speaking  earnestly. 
"  If  so,  I  ask  your  forgiveness  ;  I  am  ready  to  ask 


A   SONATA  BY  BEETHOVEN.  265 

your  forgiveness  on  my  knees.  But,  after  seeing 
what  I  have  seen,  knowing  what  I  know,  how 
could  I  keep  silence?  And,  believe  me, — after  — 
after  all  I  made  you  suffer,  it  was  a  sort  of  consola- 
tion to  me  to  think  of  you  as  loving,  and  beloved  by, 
a  fresh  young  heart." 

"There  is  nothing  of  the  kind,"  declared  Med- 
hurst.  "  I  cannot  understand  your  allusions." 

He  looked  dangerous.  The  harness  Fanny  had 
thrown  over  him  did  not  fit  him  at  all.  The  bit  was 
in  his  mouth,  however  ;  and,  let  him  stamp,  froth,  and 
make  play  as  he  would,  she  knew  that  he  could  not 
free  himself.  She  had  not  known  how  he  would 
take  it,  but  she  had  hardly  expected  all  this  fire 
and  revolt.  Some  struggle  was  going  on  within 
him  which  she  could  not  measure  except  by  these 
signs  of  wrath.  All  was  uncertainty  and  confusion 
in  his  thoughts,  she  could  see  that. 

"  I  saw  a  change  in  }-ou  at  first,"  said  Fannjr.  "  I 
watched  a  little.  '  Is  he  in  love  with  that  3'oung 
girl  ? '  I  asked  myself.  I  saw  soon  enough  how  it 
was  with  her.  She  loves  you,  —  I  tell  you  she  loves 
you  with  all  her  foolish,  fond,  little  heart." 

He  was  trembling. 

"  If,"  said  he,  in  a  faint  voice,  "  if  I  thought  that, 
it  would  be  1113'  duty  to  go  away,  —  to  go  away 
instantly." 

Fanny  looked  at  him  incredulously. 

"Are  you  as  half-hearted  as  that?"  she  cried, 
with  a  swift,  piercing  intonation.  "  I  should  have 
believed  you  capable  of  being  a  good  lover,  at  all 
events." 

"  Whatever   I   am,  I   am,  I   hope,  incapable  of 


266  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

dishonor,  and  I  should  feel  a  stinging  sense  of 
treachery  in  going  on  here  with  that  idea  in  my 
mind." 

Fanny  had  miscalculated  a  little.  She  had  wished 
to  throw  a  firebrand,  but  had  not  supposed  it  likely 
to  alight  in  a  powder  magazine. 

"  Do  not  punish  me  in  this  way,"  she  now  ex- 
claimed, with  no  exaggerated  terror  depicted  on  her 
face.  "  I  thought  —  I  thought  I  might  be  doing  you 
a  service." 

"If  she  were  free  as  air,"  said  Medhurst,  "I 
should  have  no  right  to  think  of  her ;  and  now  — 
Why,"  he  added,  looking  at  Rodney,  who,  standing 
on  his  stool,  was  brandishing  his  crayon,  and  shout- 
ing:— 

"  'If  now  I  be  disdained,  I  wish 
My  heart  had  never  known  you  ' "  — 

—  "  he  is  in  love  with  her." 

Fanny  felt  with  anno3-ance  and  confusion  that  she 
had  put  forces  in  action  of  which  she  had  not 
dreamed.  All  this  fine  feeling  seemed  to  her  to 
spring  from  no  inadequate  causes.  The  sort  of 
friendship  Medhurst  seemed  to  entertain  for  Rod- 
ney had  not  entered  into  her  calculations  at  all. 

"I  wish,"  she  said,  with  some  emotion,  "that  I 
had  not  spoken.  But  old  and  dear  friends  as  we 
are  "  — 

"  Look  here,  Fanny  !  "  said  Medhurst.  "  You  do 
not  understand  me.  When,  a  little  while  ago,  I 
spoke  of  my  future,  —  of  my  beginning  to  make  an 
actual  career  for  myself,  —  I  thought  of  you  and  of 
you  alone-" 


A   SONATA   BY  BEETHOVEN.  267 

' '  I  did  not  know  you  ever  thought  of  me  in  these 
days,"  said  Fanny. 

"  But  you  see  I  do." 

"  You  have  almost  avoided  me." 

"Intercourse  between  us  means  too  much  or  too 
little.  I  felt  that  I  had  no  right  to  see  you,  to  make 
allusions  to  our  past  and  to  my  own  feelings  in  that 
past,  without  some  definite  speech  and  promise 
about  the  future.  I "  — 

"  Do  not  go  on,"  cried  Fanny.  "I  do  not  know 
what  you  feel  precisely,  nor  do  I  wish  to  know  — 
just  yet.  I  like  to  see  you — to  talk  to  you  freety. 
Don't  feel  that  there  is  any  necessity  for  even  think- 
ing about  the  future."  She  was  leaning  close  to 
him,  with  a  bright,  friendly  face,  a  charming  brill- 
iancy in  her  e\Tes,  and  a  gay,  caressing  smile  on  her 
lips.  "  Forget  all  that  I  said,"  she  whispered. 
"  Don't  dream  of  any  necessity  for  going  away." 

He  said  nothing.     She  sprang  up. 

"  Now,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I'll  say  my  part  to  you. 
I  am  not  perfect  yet.  There  is  time  to  go  through 
one  scene.  You  read  that,  please,  —  or  at  least 
give  me  the  cues." 

She  walked  about  ten  feet  away,  and  began  one 
of  the  monologues  in  which  her  part  abounded.  He 
was  struck  by  the  sort  of  electrical  and  involuntary 
force  which  came  into  her  voice,  look,  and  gesture, 
as  she  moved  up  and  down.  As  for  himself  it  was 
difficult  to  keep  his  attention  fixed  upon  the  little 
strip  of  paper  in  his  hand  and  attend  to  the  role  he 
had  assumed.  The  dialogue  was  between  Mrs. 
Chalcote  and  Henri,  whose  part  was  to  be  taken  by 
Alec  Haxtoun.  Probably  no  scene  in  the  play  would 


268  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

afford  Fanny  a  better  chance  for  the  display  of  her 
peculiar  powers  than  this.  Henri  had  become  sus- 
picious and  restless  ;  he  began  to  see  that  he  had 
rivals,  and  pressed  upon  Adela  the  necessity  of 
putting  an  end  to  his  suspense,  and  making  it  either 
happiness  or  despair.  His  accusations  she  met  with 
a  volley  of  sparkling  impertinences. 

"  What!  I  am  not  to  have  as  many  lovers  as  I 
choose?  Treat  them  as  I  choose?  Amuse  myself 
at  them,  or  with  them,  as  I  choose?" 

Medhurst  could  hardly  read  the  part  assigned  him. 
He  did  not  know  of  what  or  whom  he  was  think- 
ing. It  was  not  of  Fanny ;  her  arch,  coquettish 
looks,  her  incessant  laughter,  irritated  and  troubled 
him.  Her  words  seemed  an  echo  of  something 
once  realized,  but  half-forgotten  ;  there  was  a  pain- 
ful violence  to  his  feelings  in  trying  to  go  through 
Henri's  answers.  The  effect  became  more  and  more 
hideous  all  the  time  that  Fanny  was  increasing  in 
mischief,  in  spirit,  in  abandon.  She  paused  sud- 
denly, and  burst  into  ringing  laughter. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  enjoy  it,"  she  said. 

"  The  thing  is  quite  out  of  my  line.  I  have  no 
dramatic  talent  now." 

"  You  excel  in  love-making  when  you  feel  the 
emotion,"  she  said,  in  a  soft,  coquettish  whisper. 

He  flung  down  the  paper  he  held.  He  began  to 
believe  that  she  was  trying  to  torment  him,  and  re- 
solved to  hold  his  own  against  either  her  malice  or 
her  fascinations. 

She  accepted  his  decision  that  they  had  had  enough 
of  the  rehearsal,  and,  in  fact,  a  servant  came  to 


A   SONATA  BY  BEETHOVEN.  269 

announce  that  dinner  would  be  upon  the  table  in 
ten  minutes. 

Rodney  clambered  down  from  his  stool,  and  asked 
Medhurst  to  go  upstairs  with  him. 

When  they  descended  Mrs.  Dalton  was  in  Mrs. 
Este's  boudoir,  and  they  all  moved  in  to  dinner  to- 
gether. 

The  meal  was  so  simple  that  Mrs.  Est6  almost 
apologized  to  Medhurst.  They  kept  a  French  cook, 
at  a  great  salary,  for  nothing,  she  affirmed.  Rod- 
ney ate  little,  and  Fanny  Dalton  almost  lived  upon 
cream  ;  while,  as  for  herself,  she  took  nothing  save 
bouillon  and  juicy  beef. 

"  And,  in  Europe,  Rodney  used  to  begin  with  ca- 
viare and  olives  stuffed  with  anchovies,  "she  explained 
plaintively. 

"  Don't  omit  absinthe,"  put  in  Rodney.  "  Make 
me  out  as  bad  as  you  can.  But  reflect,  Medhurst, 
that  in  those  happy  days  I  did  not  dine  —  if  you 
call  such  a  thing  as  this  dining — at  three  o'clock  in 
the  day." 

"  It  does  not  sound  polite,"  said  Fanny,  "but  a 
dinner  at  three  o'clock  does  not  seem  to  belong  to 
this  house." 

"  But  then,"  said  Mrs.  Est4,  "  when  I  was  here 
all  alone  I  never  used  actually  to  dine,  and  to  have 
a  simple  meal  at  seven  o'clock,  with  the  chandelier 
lighted,  and  the  men  standing  about,  was  dreary  and 
absurd.  When  Rodney  came  I  was  ready  to  make 
any  changes,  but  he  insisted  on  going  on  in  the  old 
way.  People  about  us  do  it,  and  it  is  inconvenient 
to  vary  from  the  accepted  hours  of  the  neighbor- 
hood." 


270  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  You  see  I  am  a  reformed  sinner,"  observed 
Rodney;  "and  reformed  sinners  have  to  become 
puritans  in  order  to  impress  people  with  the  fact  of 
their  penitence.  Prince  Henry  had  to  cut  all  his  old- 
est and  dearest  friends  in  order  to  get  up  his  credit ; 
but  I  had  only  to  take  to  early  hours,  mutton-chops 
and  potatoes,  and  a  veil  was  drawn  at  once  over  my 
peccadilloes." 

"  How  grateful  I  ought  to  be  that  you  did  not 
give  me  up  !  "  said  Fanny.  "  Had  you  virtuously 
said,  '  I  know  you  not,  old  man ;  fall  to  your 
prayers,'  I  should  not  have  been  the  fortunate  per- 
son I  am  at  present." 

Medhurst  heard  the  voices  buzzing  around  him 
with  no  clear  idea  of  what  anybody  was  saying. 
Rodney  began  to  talk  about  the  novel,  "Bettering 
Opportunity  "  ;  but  no  effort  could  make  the  thing 
seem  definite  and  real  to  his  own  mind.  Rodney  had 
read  the  book  and  liked  it,  and  Mrs.  Est6  dis- 
coursed about  the  hero  with  little  shrieks  of  admira- 
tion :  — 

"A  genuine  man!  Made  of  actual  flesh  and 
blood  !  What  an  intellect !  What  a  heart !  And  so 
revolted  by  the  dishonesty,  the  insincerity,  the  want 
of  spirituality,  in  the  life  about  him  !" 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  like  the  book  or  not," 
said  Fanny.  "  I  was  all  the  time  looking  for  your 
own  traits,  Frank ;  the  incidents  in  your  own  life. 
When  you  moralized,  I  said,  '  Now  he  means  this  or 
that.' " 

"  I  expected  to  hear  you  say,  '  Now  he  means 
me  ! '  "  said  Rodney,  and  they  both  laughed.  Med- 
hurst smiled  indifferently.  He  could  not  throw  off 


A  SONATA   BY  BEETHOVEN.  271 

his  reserve,  and  felt,  when  addressed,  as  if  encased 
in  a  triple  suit  of  armor,  which  left  him  no 
freedom ;  but  the  others  did  not  seem  to  find  his 
mood  out  of  the  usual.  Rodney  was  in  high  spirits, 
and  Fanny  Dalton  was  both  radiant  and  gay. 
An  incessant  play  of  wit  and  badinage  went  on 
between  the  two,  in  which  Mrs.  Elsie"  joined,  and 
tried  to  carry  the  guest  along  with  her.  But  the 
conversation  was  made  up  of  that  sort  of  coterie 
talk,  which,  with  its  perpetual  allusions  and  its  half- 
said  things,  leaves  an  outsider  absolutely  dull  and 
helpless.  It  was  Medhurst's  first  actual  perception 
of  the  intimacy  which  existed  between  Rodney  Heriot 
and  Mrs.  Dalton.  He  had  known,  in  an  indefinite 
way,  that  they  were  old  friends ;  but  now  he  dis- 
covered that,  even  during  her  married  life,  Fanny 
had,  summer  after  summer,  gone  abroad  with  Mrs. 
Este",  and  met  Rodney  when  he  joined  his  mother  at 
her  Italian  villa.  The  two  had  been  associated  in 
all  sorts  of  ideas  and  enterprises,  and  seemed  to 
have  so  much  in  common  that  a  new  significance 
was  suddenly  put  into  the  free  and  easy  intercourse 
for  the  looker-on.  There  was  hardly  a  limit  to 
Fanny's  coquetry,  and  when  it  seemed  slightly  to 
overstep  the  boundary  she  would  say,  with  a  laugh 
and  a  glance  at  Mrs.  Este",  "  When  a  man  is  in  love 
with  another  woman  it  makes  no  difference  what 
one  says  to  him." 

"  I  wouldn't  waste  my  ammunition  on  him,  then ," 
Mrs.  Este"  remarked  once,  with  her  little,  petulant 
air. 

"  I  will  not,"  Fanny  replied,  with  a  shrug.  "  It 
is  absolutely  a  shame  he  should  care  nothing  about 


272  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

me.  Still,  you  must  confess  that  it  keeps  him  in 
good-humor,  and  teaches  him  how  to  behave  his 
best  when  he  really  has  to  serve  on  his  knees, 
so"  — 

"  I  will  go  down  on  my  knees  to  }-outhis  moment, 
Fanny,  if  you  say  so,"  said  Rodney. 

They  were  rising  from  table,  and  went  out  on  the 
porch  to  take  their  coffee.  It  was  by  this  time 
almost  five  o'clock,  and  tbe  long  shadows  had  crept 
across  the  terraces  and  lawn,  and  the  water  below 
was  dark  and  rayless.  Where  Medhurst  sat  he 
could  see  the  filmy  reaches  of  the  upper  river, 
which  took  the  sunlight  and  vanished  into  a  silvery 
haze.  Mrs.  Este  drank  her  coffee,  and  then  went  to 
sleep  in  her  reclining-chair ;  the  three  others  settled 
into  quiet,  and  when  conversation  began  again  it 
was  Medhurst  who  started  it.  He  had  it  all  to  him- 
self, however,  for  the  ten  minutes  he  tried  to  keep 
it  up,  and  he  began  to  believe  that  he  had  become 
as  prolix  and  as  monotonous  as  Mr.  Haxtoun  him- 
self. Rodney  listened  to  him  with  a  bright  eye  and 
an  occasional  word,  but  his  thoughts  were  evidently 
elsewhere,  and  Medhurst  sat  upon  thorns  until  he 
found  a  chance  to  abandon  his  subject.  Mrs.  Dai- 
ton  made  a  lovely  picture,  in  her  white  dress,  under 
the  red  awnings  ;  but  she  had  exerted  herself  quite 
enough  for  the  present,  and  no  efifort  could  elicit 
more  than  a  lazy  smile  from  her. 

"  Would  it  bore  you  if  I  played  in  the  distance?" 
Rodney  asked  presently,  in  a  sleepy  voice ;  and  at 
Medhurst's  word  he  went  off  to  the  library. 

"  Make  yourself  comfortable,  Frank,"  said  Fanny, 
good-naturedly.  "  Loll,  put  your  feet  up,  and  your 


A   SONATA  BY  BEETHOVEN.  273 

hands  in  your  pockets,  if  you  choose.  One  hates  to 
have  a  dull  hour  and  a  stiff  hour  at  the  same  time." 

Rodney  had  taken  his  violin.  He  began  to  play 
softly  and  pensively,  with  an  air  of  reverie,  through 
which  stray  fancies  whispered,  giving  a  suggestion 
of  immense  sweetness.  It  was  dreamy,  melodious, 
and  tender,  but  he  soon  tired  of  it.  "  Fanny,"  his 
voice  was  heard  calling,  "come  and  try  a  sonata 
with  me." 

Fanny  rose,  with  a  little  grimace,  raising  her  eye- 
brows and  shrugging  her  shoulders  as  she  passed 
Medhurst.  He  was  left  alone,  for  Mrs.  Esters  maid 
had  come  out  and  wheeled  in  the  sleeping  old  lady 
out  of  reach  of  the  river-breeze.  He  was  glad  to  be 
alone.  He  seemed  for  the  past  two  hours  to  have 
been  in  a  state  of  suspended  animation.  He  had 
not  been  able  to  think  connectedly  nor  to  speak  with 
what  seemed  to  him  intelligence  or  comprehension. 
He  had  made  a  vigorous  effort  to  reject  the  idea 
Fanny  had  offered,  but  it  was  not  so  easily  dispelled. 
In  fact,  his  whole  consciousness  had  been  invaded 
by  it  on  the  instant ;  and  to  run  awa}'  from  it,  to 
deny  it,  to  refuse  it,  did  not  in  the  least  alter  the 
fact  that  it  was  the  very  kernel  of  his  present  sen- 
sation, thought,  and  life.  Everything  else  was  far 
off.  There  was  a  joyous  violence  in  the  way  old 
and  indefinite  impressions  suddenly  grew  vivid ; 
meeting,  separating,  mingling  together.  At  least 
he  must  examine  the  idea,  and  determine  its  logical 
value,  and  its  bearing  upon  his  duty.  But  the  fact 
was,  that  his  mind  was  at  present  like  a  hitherto 
undiscovered  countiy,  in  which  he  had  a  half  right 
to  some  rich  inheritance,  unmapped,  without  barriers, 


274  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

boundaries,  roads,  or  sign-posts ;  inviting,  but  at 
the  same  time  denying  bis  claims  ;  tantalizing  him 
with  a  promise  of  possession,  to  which  he  felt 
morally  certain  in  his  own  mind  he  had  neither 
birthright  nor  title-deeds.  He  was  just  in  the  mood 
to  hear  music.  It  opened  instantaneously  the 
heights,  depths,  and  far  perspectives  which  he  could 
not  realize  with  his  unaided  imagination.  But  the 
strains  served,  nevertheless,  as  an  invocation  to 
spirits  he  might  not  find  it  easy  again  to  dismiss. 
Fanny  was  carrying  along  a  theme  of  Beethoven's 
upon  the  piano,  while  Rodney  adorned  it  with  fan- 
tastic little  caprices,  delicate  turns,  blissful  sugges- 
tions, wild,  delicate  impulses ;  then,  when  joy  had 
moved  it  to  its  fullest,  the  violin  in  turn  took  up  the 
story,  and  told  it  in  its  own  way.  What  had  been 
pure  303'  became  the  burden  of  a  heart  ravished 
with  its  own  happiness ;  a  happiness  it  longs  for, 
craves,  bat  cannot  claim.  The  last  two  or  three 
hours'  experience  had  swept  away  all  Medhurst's 
former  world  of  ideas.  That  morning  he  had 
believed  he  was  in  some  measure  bound  to  Fanny, 
while  Heriot  thought  only  of  Miss  Haxtoun.  Nei- 
ther of  these  beliefs  remained  to  him  now  as  an 
essential  base  of  action.  Heriot  and  Fanny  were 
wrapped  up  in  each  other.  Let  them  go  ;  he  wanted 
to  be  alone  in  the  world  with  Cecil. 

Suddenly  a  pertinacious  idea  arose  in  his  mind. 
He  recalled  Mr.  Haxtoun's  talk  with  him  a  few 
hours  before  ;  at  the  time  he  had  been  so  oppressed 
by  the  fancy  that  other  people  were  bent  on  recalling 
him  to  his  old  vows  to  Fanny,  that  he  had  not  once 
reflected  upon  the  probabilities  of  the  matter.  He 


A    SONATA   BY  BEETHOVEN.  275 

saw  it  clearly  now.  Mr.  Haxtoun  bad  not  thought 
of  Mrs.  Dalton  at  all ;  what  his  mind  had  been  busy 
with  was  the  question  of  his  secretary's  relations  to 
his  daughter.  Medhurst  felt  that,  in  fortifying 
himself  boldly  against  the  attack  from  an  entirely 
different  quarter,  he  had  considerably  disconcerted 
the  old  gentleman,  who  had  at  once  shifted  his 
ground  and  retreated  in  good  order.  There  was  an 
encircling  mystery,  not  without  some  charm,  which 
enticed  and  fascinated,  while  it  tantalized.  Through 
all  Medhurst's  moods  ran  the  fibre  of  his  proud, 
stubborn  character  and  temperament ;  but  he  was 
powerfully  moved,  nevertheless.  His  thoughts 
shifted  and  alternated.  He  dreamed  of  standing 
alone  in  the  garden  with  Cecil.  Her  hand  was  in 
his,  her  eyes  raised ;  but  at  the  same  time  he  was 
saying  to  himself  that  it  could  not,  should  not,  be. 
Yet  baffled,  driven  back,  defeated,  the  sweet,  im- 
perious yearning  recoiled  only  to  readvance  on  a 
new  line.  His  own  readiness  to  believe  that  he  was 
capable  only  of  a  course  purely  honorable  enabled 
him  to  coquet  a  little  with  the  dangerous  idea. 
Fanny  Dalton  had  said  he  had  only  to  stretch  out 
his  hand  to  the  young  girl  and  he  might  draw  her  to 
him  ;  he  seemed  to  know  the  look  she  would  give 
him,  —  a  look  of  complete  surrender,  that  gladly 
pledged  her  life  away.  And  all  the  time  the 
troubled,  passionate  andante  spoke  to  his  very  soul ; 
it  was  a  revelation  of  what  his  life  might  be,  if 
what  was  sweetest,  deepest,  and  holiest  came  to 
pass,  leading  him  to  tin  earthly  paradise ;  it  told 
him,  too,  of  loss,  pain,  separation ;  it  showed  hitn 


276  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

the  abyss  into  which  he  should  be  flung  if  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  led  to  an  earthly  hell. 

His  thoughts  wandered  aimlessly  about :  he  re- 
membered everything.  His  father,  of  whom  he 
rarely  thought,  suddenly  came  to  his  mind,  lying  on 
the  pillow,  dying,  pressing  his  little  sou's  hand  and 
saying,  "  I  should  be  afraid  to  leave  you  alone  in  the 
world,  my  dear,  did  I  not  feel  that  you  loved  truth 
and  honor  for  their  own  sake."  Medhurst  wondered 
why  he  should  all  at  once  have  remembered  this. 
If  he  had  hitherto  loved  truth  and  honor  it  must 
have  been  for  their  own  sake,  and  apart  from  exter- 
nal inducements.  He  had  never  been  bribed  before 
to  give  them  up.  He  sat  upright ;  he  seemed  to 
have  been  asleep  and  dreaming.  The  music  stopped 
momentarily  ;  the  day  had  declined ;  the  air  was 
cooler. 

"  Are  you  asleep?  "  called  Rodney. 

"Yes;  and  dreaming, — delicious  nightmare 
dreams.  I  must  go  home." 

"  No;  not  yet." 

They  went  on  pla^yiug.  Medhurst  felt  calmer,  he 
thought.  He  saw  the  utter  falsity  and  futilit}'  of 
any  chimera  which  promised  him  happiness.  He 
might  be  tempted  ;  he  was  more  liable  to  tempta- 
tion than  other  men,  because  he  had  denied  himself 
everything ;  but  he  knew  his  own  power  of  resist- 
ance, and  he  liked  to  feel  at  times  the  giant  dreams 
his  imagination  brought  him.  He  was  so  conscious 
of  the  poverty  of  his  own  life,  without  ties,  associa- 
tions, or  actual  duties,  every  circumstance  of  which 
seemed  to  him  accidental  and  trivial.  He  had 
rebelled  so  perpetually  against  his  lonely,  egoistic 


A  SONATA  BY  BEETHOVEN.  277 

existence,  the  spending  of  what  poor  powers  he 
possessed  upon  his  ignoble  necessities.  It  had  been 
borne  in  upon  his  mind  so  unceasingly,  that,  besides 
having  no  career,  he  had  no  affiliation  with  that 
great  human  brotherhood  which  endures,  suffers, 
dies,  for  home,  for  country,  for  religion's  sake. 
Yet  he  knew  his  own  strength,  and  had  experienced 
a  fierce,  if  impotent,  craving  to  be  or  do  something- 
in  the  state  or  world. 

Great  sobs  of  lamentation  came  from  the  violin 
inside  ;  it  was  as  if  Rodue3r,  too,  felt  the  pressure  of 
this  immense  world-sorrow.  But  no,  Rodney  had 
no  such  grief.  A  mere  brilliant  epicurean  like  him 
could  find  enough  of  enjoyment  in  life.  This  fresh, 
girlish  being,  simple,  true,  and  tender,  who  loved 
himself,  Medhurst  felt  was  necessary  to  him.  He 
felt  for  a  moment  absolutely  free  from  any  fetters  of 
self-iucriminatiou.  He  needed  this  impulse  ;  he  needed 
this  divine  source  of  joy  and  comfort.  A  cold- 
blooded creature  a  man  must  be  who  would  think  of 
scruples  with  such  a  glimpse  of  heaven  before  him. 

At  this  moment  Medhurst  looked  up.  Cecil 
herself  was  advancing  along  the  terrace.  He  had 
been  thinking  of  her  as  a  spur  to  his  ambition,  as  a 
bribe  to  his  energy.  He  knew  in  this  instant  that 
what  he  cared  about  was  the  rosy  oval  of  this  girlish 
face ;  the  beautiful  outlines  of  the  shoulders  and 
throat ;  the  turn  of  her  wrist  and  hand  ;  the  charm 
of  her  eyes  and  smile.  He  stood  up  and  bowed  as 
she  ascended  the  steps,  and  she  made  a  sweeping 
courtesy,  and  then  stood  looking  at  him  with  a  little, 
tremulous  air  of  interrogation.  He  felt  her  beauty, 
her  patrician  air,  the  very  daintiness  and  perfection 


278  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

of  her  fresh  toilet,  like  lashes,  which  stung  him  to 
the  quick.  Not  one  of  her  beauties  escaped  his 
observation,  and  at  each  one  he  called  himself 
names.  He  had  been  sitting  here,  dreaming  about 
her,  when  he  ought  to  have  been  fleeing  from  the 
temptress.  She  seemed  to  him  dangerous  ;  he  did 
not  blame  her ;  she  did  not  know  what  monster  folly 
•he  was  capable  of.  His  love  had  come  about  with- 
out his  will,  but  he  could  save  himself  from  it.  It 
was  not  as  if  he  did  not  know  that  his  love  would 
ruin  her  if  she  accepted  it ;  deepening  her  experiences 
into  the  same  terrible  realism  of  poverty  and  failure 
he  was  doomed  to.  He  could  save  her  from  that,  — 
he  could  save  her  from  any  foolish,  girlish  fancy 
which  might  be  governing  her.  He  need  not  torture 
himself  with  questions ;  he  need  not  wonder  what 
event  might  be  coming  to  pass.  Nothing  should 
happen  except  that  this  pretty,  tender,  spoiled 
creature  should  be  safe  and  happy. 

He  smiled  at  her  as  at  a  child  half- frightened. 

"Go  into  the  library,"  said  he.  "Is  not  the 
music  delightful?  I  am  glad  another  hearer  has 
come,  for,  as  for  me,  I  must  go  away." 

He  went  away  on  the  instant.  She  stood  look- 
ing after  him,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears. 


"FAIE  RIVALS."  279 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  FAIR   RIVALS." 

rpHERE  had  been  three  rehearsals  of  "  Fair  Ri- 
J-  vals"  before  Mr.  Stein,  the  New  York  mana- 
ger, who  was  to  put  the  dramatic  company  through 
the  requisite  training,  made  his  appearance ;  that 
is  to  say,  some  thirteen  people,  to  whom  parts  had 
been  allotted,  stood  about  the  stage,  going  and 
coming  with  wrong  exits  and  wrong  entrances, 
getting  into  each  other's  way,  and  once  or  twice 
tripping  each  other  up ;  advising  everybody  else, 
but  listening  to  no  advice  themselves ;  arguing  on 
every  point,  quibbling  and  debating,  —  everything 
except  attending  to  their  own  particular  duties. 
Three  of  the  actors  only  had  taken  pains  to  com- 
mit their  parts  to  memory,  the  others  disdained 
such  an  ignominious  necessity ;  they  waited,  they 
declared,  to  get  the  idea  of  the  whole.  These  de- 
tached sentences  were  too  meaningless  ;  it  was  hardly 
worth  their  while  to  try  to  fix  them  upon  their 
minds.  Most  of  the  minor  actors  were  discontented  ; 
each  one  was  inclined  to  feel  that  whereas  a  part 
like  his  own  was  in  no  way  calculated  to  show  off 
his  peculiar  gifts,  that  of  another  might  in  every 
way  suit  him,  and  give  him  a  chance  to  shine. 
Arthur  Snow  was  one  of  the  chief  malcontents  ;  he 
had  counted  the  speeches  of  each  one,  he  affirmed, 


280  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS 

and  made  the  discovery  that  he  had  a  third  less  to 
say  than  any  one  else  in  the  play.  Miss  Winchester, 
also,  had  a  grievance ;  there  was  nothing  in  her 
part,  not  even  a  chance  for  a  becoming  costume.  She 
was  not  ambitious,  she  declared ;  she  had  not  ex- 
pected to  be  first  lady  ;  but  yet  there  was  a  certain 
fairness  to  be  observed,  and  the  easy  passing  over  of 
her  claims,  etc.  The  lovers  exchanged  these  con- 
fidences with  absolute  reliance  on  mutual  sympathy 
and  comprehension,  and  Arthur  had  proposed  that 
they  should  withdraw  from  the  play  and  allow  their 
neglected  claims  to  be  felt.  Lilly,  however,  enter- 
tained no  such  idea ;  having  wit  enough  to  realize 
that  their  places  could  easily  be  filled,  she  preferred 
to  remain  and  take  her  little  revenge  as  the  chance 
came.  In  fact,  the  private  theatricals  were  pro- 
gressing as  all  private  theatricals  progress,  and 
those  upon  whose  shoulders  the  chief  burdens  and 
responsibilities  rested  welcomed  Mr.  Stein's  arrival 
as  the  harbinger  of  a  joyful  change. 

Mr.  Stein  was  a  small  man,  with  brilliant,  roving 
black  eyes,  a  head  of  black,  bushy,  curly  hair,  a 
querulous  forehead,  and  an  ironic  smile.  His  usual 
voice  was  soft  and  silky,  but  on  the  least  excite- 
ment it  rose  to  a  preternatural  shrillness,  which 
stimulated  and  goaded,  or  cowed  like  a  sting  of 
nettles.  He  had  managed  private  theatricals  before, 
and  knew  very  well  what  were  the  faults,  foibles, 
and  pet  vanities  of  amateurs.  He  liked  to  be  called 
a  severe  artist ;  he  aimed  to  establish  the  precedent 
of  a  despotic  tyranny.  He  enjoyed  having  these  fii)e 
ladies  and  gentlemen  go  down  on  their  knees  to  him 
and  implore  that  he  should  lower  his  standards  to  the 


"FAIR  RIVALS."  281 

requirements  of  their  feeble  capacities.  Afterwards 
it  was  easy  enough  to  reinstate  them  in  their  self- 
belief,  and  assure  them  that,  with  proper  cultivation, 
they  were  likely  to  show  surprising  powers.  Mr. 
Stein  devoted  his  first  night  to  a  study  of  Mr. 
Heriot's  comedy,  and  in  the  morning  declared  his 
opinion  that  it  was  too  amateurish  a  bit  of  work  to 
succeed  on  any  stage ;  that  it  was  faultily  con- 
structed ;  was  all  dialogue,  all  situation ;  that  the 
climax  did  not  come  in  in  the  right  place,  and  that 
there  was  throughout  a  sad  deficiency  of  action. 

"  We  will  put  action  into  it  somehow,"  said  Rod- 
ney. "We  won't  let  it  be  dull.  We  will  intro- 
duce a  tight-rope  performance,  a  cancan,  in  the 
third  act." 

After  finally  accepting  the  play  Mr.  Stein  sur- 
veyed the  stage  and  scenery,  and  reviewed  his  corps 
of  supernumeraries,  property-men,  scene-shifters, 
which  consisted  of  John,  Heriot's  own  man,  and 
Thomas,  from  the  stables.  The  manager  declared 
that  this  arrangement  and  the  other  must  be  changed, 
and  suggested  the  mode.  He  chalked  the  floor ;  he 
gave  orders ;  he  made  his  subordinates  tremble. 
Then  he  took  his  own  seat  in  the  front  centre  of  the 
stage,  and  in  a  faint  voice  declared  himself  ready. 
It  was  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  young  people  were 
waiting  in  the  library,  laughing,  chatting,  and  flirt- 
ing, little  knowing  what  sort  of  an  ordeal  was  in 
store  for  them. 

They  were  admitted  to  the  gallery,  and  Mr.  Stein 
scanned  them  with  a  leisurely  air,  deciding,  by  an 
infallible  instinct,  who  was  and  who  was  not  to 
give  him  trouble. 


282  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  We  will  begin  the  rehearsal,  if  you  please, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  in  his  sweetest  voice. 
"First,  I  will  call  the  roll." 

Every  one  answered  except  Medhurst,  whose  part, 
Rodney  Heriot  observed,  he  was  to  read  that 
morning. 

Mr.  Stein  now  dismissed  them  all  to  the  rear  of 
the  stage.  He  wanted  no  audience,  he  declared ; 
no  one  for  an  on-looker  save  himself.  Not  a  soul 
was  to  be  admitted  to  the  auditorium.  This  an- 
nouncement was  made  with  some  violence  and  a 
wrathful  eye,  which  was  not  reassuring.  The  first 
act  was  opened  with  Alec  Haxtoun  and  Miss  Win- 
chester :  Alec,  in  shooting-dress,  with  a  gun  and  a 
bag,  encountering  the  young  girl,  a  dependant  of 
Mrs.  Chalcote's,  just  as  she  was  leaving  the  house 
of  her  patroness. 

Neither  of  them  knew  the  part,  but  each  contrived 
to  hobble  over  the  first  few  sentences  in  a  great  fright, 
when  Mr.  Stein's  voice  was  heard. 

"  It  is  too  rapid,"  he  cried.  "  It  is  not  audible. 
I  beg  you  to  remember,  madam  (this  to  Miss  Win- 
chester) ,  that  you  are  out-of-doors.  It  is  an  autumn 
afternoon.  You  are  not  a  lady  ;  3*011  are  not  a 
soubrette.  You  have  a  position  which  necessitates 
seriousness,  self-repression,  humility.  You  must 
guard  your  eye,  your  tone,  your  manner.  It  is  not 
a  character  in  which  you  can  sing  high,  — 3-our  tone 
must  be  low." 

Lilly  had  carried  so  far  into  her  part  a  self-suffi- 
cient air,  a  tone  which  sounded  pert,  and  a  charac- 
teristic little  pose  of  the  head  which  was  distinctly 
out  of  the  question.  Alec  was  next  found  faylt 


"FAIR  RIVALS."  283 

with :  he,  too,  must  remember  that  he  was  out-of- 
doors  ;  he  had  had  a  day's  sport,  was  supposed  to 
be  tired,  —  he  must  lounge  a  little.  In  questioning 
the  girl  he  must  show  at  once  the  indifferent  ease  of 
a  man  of  the  world,  and  the  stimulus  of  a  personal 
idea.  The  scene  began  again,  but  began  worse 
than  before.  Mr.  Stein  threw  up  his  eyes  and  his 
hands,  then  resigned  himself  to  the  worst,  and  al- 
lowed them  to  go  on,  occasionally,  however,  ejaculat- 
ing in  a  high  key  :  — 

"Not  that  way,  madam.  Cross  in  front.  For 
God's  sake,  sir,  allow  me  to  hear  you  sufficiently  to 
know  whether  you  are  following  the  text.  The 
other  side  !  the  other  side  !  Don't  j'ou  see  that  you 
ought  to  be  left  centre?  Ah,  that  will  do,  —  that 
will  do  very  well !  " 

Mr.  Stein  began  to  believe  that  he  was  going  to 
have  a  very  bad  time  indeed.  Arthur  Snow  came 
on  presentl}',  and  became  at  once  his  special  abhor- 
rence, and  promised  to  be  his  worst  plague.  In  fact, 
the  act  opened  so  badly  that  it  needed  swift  and  ef- 
ficient help  not  to  instantly  shipwreck  everybod\  's 
interest,  hope,  and  belief.  But,  at  last,  Mrs.  Dai- 
ton  and  Cecil  came  on  together,  and  the  manager's 
views  changed  at  once.  Adela  Chalcote  (Fanny 
Dalton)  had  just  welcomed  her  young  cousin  as  a 
guest  at  her  country-house,  and  finding  her  bright, 
animated,  and,  above  all,  devoid  of  any  real 
knowledge  of  the  world,  was  explaining  to  her  her 
present  position  and  dilemma.  Adela,  being  a  rich 
young  widow,  had  a  score  of  lovers,  and  her  house, 
although  comparatively  inacessible,  was  their  con- 
stant resort.  If  they  walked,  if  they  drove,  if  they 


284  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

shot,  hunted,  or  yachted,  it  was  all  the  same ;  they 
were  sure  to  turn  up  during  the  day  to  ask  about 
her  health,  to  tell  her  the  news,  to  answer  an  invita- 
tion, bring  a  book  or  a  bunch  of  flowers.  This  had 
all  been  very  pleasant  so  long  as  she  had  no  other 
distraction  ;  but  at  present  she  longed  for  a  quiet 
interval.  She  wanted  to  meet  an  old  friend,  who 
was  coming  into  the  neighborhood  to  seek  her  out,  — 
a  friend,  too,  who  would  dislike  the  idea  of  her 
being  the  centre  of  attraction  for  other  men ;  who 
was  jealous,  sensitive,  suspicious,  with  more  than 
Caesar's  nicety  about  women.  Then  Adela  proposed 
that  Nathalie  should  for  the  time  engross  her  army 
of  lovers,  and  give  her  time  for  conversations,  sen- 
timent, perhaps,  indeed,  romance. 

Cecil  had  not  far  to  go  to  find  the  idea  she  was 
to  carry  out,  and  apparently  did  her  part  to  perfec- 
tion. She  possessed  the  advantage  of  a  clear, 
deliberate,  and  flexible  voice,  and  an  incessant  arch- 
ness, and  she  knew  every  word  by  heart.  Mrs. 
Dalton,  however,  astonished  the  manager.  His 
first  experience  had  been  of  dull,  blind,  plodding 
worms.  Cecil  was  a  chrysalis,  —  she  might  unfold 
into  a  winged  creature ;  but  here  was  the  perfected 
butterfly.  Mrs.  Dalton's  was  not  a  star  part ;  hers 
was  not  the  despotism  of  a  single  figure,  around 
•which  the  others  grouped,  and  which  made  triumph 
easy  to  her.  She  made  the  stage  her  own  at  once 
with  an  ease,  a  gayet}r,  an  absolute  naturalness. 

"  Very  good  !  "  Mr.  Stein  put  in,  in  a  tranquilliz- 
ing manner.  "Excellent!  Perfect!  Don't  forget 
the  step.  Not  quite  so  much  to  the  front.  There, 
there,  that  is  better.  That  is  the  very  thing." 


"FAIR  RIVALS."  285 

But,  reinstated  in  his  ideals  by  this  delightful  in- 
terlude, he  was  ready  to  fall  upon  the  other  actors  with 
still  more  fury  as  the  pla}^  proceeded.  He  bounded 
out  of  his  chair,  rushed  into  the  scene,  disorganizing 
and  rearranging  everybody  and  everything.  His 
voice  grew  shriller  and  shriller ;  it  piped  above 
every  other  like  a  piccolo.  He  declaimed  at  every- 
body for  being  wooden,  lifeless,  —  mere  dull  clods. 
He  himself  took  each  part,  one  after  the  other ;  he 
sank  languishing  upon  a  sofa,  and  received  a  pro- 
posal ;  he  knelt  at  his  own  feet,  and  made  a 
declaration  to  himself;  accepted  himself,  —  as  it 
were,  caught  himself  to  his  own  heart. 

The  rehearsal  lasted  four  hours,  and  Mr.  Stein 
was  still  far  from  being  satisfied,  and  begged  that 
the  third  act  might  be  gone  over  once  more,  "just 
to  fix  the  positions  in  their  minds."  But  the  actors 
were  worn  out.  They  began  to  understand  that  the 
road  to  histrionic  honors  lay  through  no  beds  of 
musk  or  asphodel,  and  that  no  amaranthine  bowers 
invited  them  to  repose.  Mr.  Stein  was  far,  how- 
ever, from  dismissing  them  in  an  abject  and  hopeless 
state  of  mind.  He  took  pains  to  rekindle  their 
hopes,  and,  if  he  had  destroyed  their  illusions,  sub- 
stituted a  clear  ideal  in  its  place.  He  had  not 
spared  Rodney  Heriot ;  at  first  he  had  shown  some 
faltering,  some  sign  of  mercy  ;  but  when  he  hesitated 
Rodney  said  :  — 

"  You  stand  over  me  like  Abraham  over  his  sou 
Isaac.  Don't  allow  anything  to  interpose,  —  make 
the  sacrifice  !  " 

Medhurst  came  in  on  the  second  da}'.  It  was 
his  fate  to  experience  many  abrupt  alternations, 


286  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

but  none  of  them  brought  such  a  complete  boide- 
versement  of  his  habits  as  these  rehearsals. 
His  part,  Colonel  Campbell,  was  almost  the  only 
serious  one  in  the  play.  He  carried  weight ;  he  was 
earnest,  he  was  romantic ;  he  was,  in  fact,  a  little 
dull.  But  that  was  a  point  in  his  favor,  so  far  as 
the  difficulties  were  concerned.  He  kn&w  his 
part,  and  it  was  sufficient  to  go  through  with  it. 
Mr.  Stein  said,  *'  Very  good !  very  good !  "  in  a 
tone  which  showed  the  unimportance  of  it  all. 
He  took  the  stage  easily,  and  his  exits  and 
entrances  left  nothing  to  be  desired.  The  idea 
of  the  play  was  to  keep  him  in  ignorance  of  the 
mad  pranks  which  were  going  on.  Mrs.  Chalcote 
had  made  up  her  mind  that  it  was  worth  while 
to  marry  Colonel  Campbell,  and  to  effect  this 
required  a  vast  amount  of  propriety.  Nathalie 
(Cecil)  assumed  the  responsibility  of  all  the 
widow's  flirtatious,  and  effected  this  with  irresisti- 
ble charm  and  imperiously  high  spirits.  Rodney 
was  Cecil's  lover,  and  carried  into  his  part 
an  alert  intelligence  and  some  humor,  infusing 
much  quaintuess,  querulousness,  and  poignancy 
into  his  personality.  After  the  first  three  re- 
hearsals were  over,  the  play  made  progress.  The 
minor  characters  began  to  know  their  parts  aud 
their  places.  The  hopeful  ones  had  learned  how 
to  improve,  and  the  hopeless  had  grown  callous 
to  all  Mr.  Stein's  objurgations,  entreaties,  and 
sarcasms.  The  chief  of  these  was  Arthur  Snow, 
who  was,  to  tell  the  truth,  fortified  against  the  mana- 
ger's attacks  by  having  his  mind  occupied  with 
quite  a  different  matter.  He  had  decided  that 


"FAIR  RIVALS."  287 

it  was  a  trivial  success   for  a  man  of  intellect  to 
take  a  part  well,  and,  having  dismissed  that  ambi- 
tion,   he   had   all   the    more    time    to   give   to   his 
grievances.      Of    these   he    had    many,    but   chief 
among   them  was  his  grievance   against  Medhurst 
for   upsetting    him    in    the    grapery,    a   fortnight 
before!      It   had   required   all   Lilly's    persuasions 
to   keep   him    silent   regarding    this.     Every   man 
has  his  sensitive  point,  and  Arthur   drew  the  line 
where  his   physical   dignity   and   uprightness  were 
concerned.     It  was  difficult,  without  bitterness   of 
feeling,  even  some  vindictiveuess,  to  pass  the  sec- 
retary   in    the    house,    or    on    the    grounds ;    and 
Medhurst    had  gradually  become  aware  that  Miss 
Winchester's  lover  avoided  him,  scowled  at  him  from 
corners,  averted  his  eyes  if  they  were  forced  to  en- 
counter, and  absolutely  refrained  from  any  spoken 
word.     Medhnrst  was,  however,  so  far  from  feeling 
any   pangs  of   conscience  where   Arthur   was  con- 
cerned, that  he  merely  supposed  these  signs  to  be 
the  outflow  of  the  young  man's  natural  disagreeable- 
ness,  and  never  thought  of  imputing  to  them  any 
personal  meaning.     He  thought  it  unfortunate  that 
in    the    play    some    cutting    and   severe    speeches 
were    assigned   him,    towards   this    saturnine-look- 
ing  individual,  who  had   been  his   military   subor- 
dinate,  and   he   let   them   drop  as  indifferently  as 
possible,  until  Mr.  Stein  expostulated. 

"Is   that   the    way   to   call    a   man    a   prj*er,    a 
listener,  a  beggarly  rascal  ?  "  said  he. 


288  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

RODNEY    COMMITS    HIMSELF   TO    FOKTUNE. 

~O  ODNEY  HERIOT  was  in  the  habit  of  wishing 
JLl)  aloud  in  these  days  that  he  was  a  practical 
man  ;  that  his  mind  busied  itself  less  with  ideals 
and  abstractions.  He  had  always  been  delicate  and 
fastidious,  and  liked  better  two  small  glasses  of 
wine  than  one  full  bumper.  A  practical  man,  he 
knew,  would  fill  his  goblet  to  the  brim  to  begin  with, 
and  end  any  possible  uncertainty  about  his  chance 
of  having  a  second.  It  seemed  to  him  the  proper 
course  when  a  man  is  making  love  to  a  young  girl, 
not  to  be  impatient  and  clamorous  with  his  inten- 
tions and  expectations,  but  to  familiarize  her  mind 
with  the  idea  that  they  are  pleasant  and  desirable, 
and  that  by  the  mere  process  of  evolution  she  will, 
in  time,  develop  into  his  affianced  wife.  A  practical 
man,  he  knew,  would  be  a  little  brutal ;  would  insist 
upon  her  having  a  surprise,  a  sensation,  perhaps  a 
shock ;  would  feel  a  distinct  assurance  that  the 
precious  creature  belonged  to  him,  and  that  he 
must  enforce  his  claims.  The  empire  of  woman  is 
attained  by  force.  Rodney  thought  the  play  was 
going  to  help  him ;  but,  although  he  was  Cecil's 
lover  there,  and  her  successful  lover,  too,  the  situa- 
tion gave  him  no  advantages.  He  found  himself, 
on  the  contrary,  adhering  strictly  to  the  common- 


RODNEY  COMMITS  HIMSELF.          289 

place  after  going  through  his  part  with  its  fanciful 
and  high-flown  phrases.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  difficult 
matter  for  Rodney  to  break  the  charm  of  his  new 
acquaintance  with  Cecil ;  he  would  have  preferred 
to  keep  it  there  for  a  time,  but  he  began  to  feel 
hurried.  Mrs.  Dalton  had  of  late  invaded  his 
thoughts,  and  her  influence  was  one  which  disturbed, 
unsettled,  and  made  him  uneasy.  They  had  played 
at  a  sort  of  love-making  so  long,  he  had  not,  at  first* 
found  anything  new  in  the  tones,  glances,  and 
words  she  gave  him.  He  had  thought  it  a  very 
pretty  arrangement  when  Medhurst  turned  out  to  be 
Faun3''s  old  lover.  It  cleared  his  mind  of  any  sus- 
picion that  he  needed  to  regard  the  young  man  as  a 
rival  where  Cecil  was  concerned.  But  nowada3^s 
Fanny  frequently  suggested  that  Medhurst  and  Cecil 
were  more  than  friends.  Rodney  was  not  given 
to  receiving  with  over-credulity  any  word  of 
Fanny's,  and  this  he  did  not  accept.  Still  he  was 
moved ;  his  will  was  excited,  and  he  resolved  to 
do  something,  to  say  something,  he  knew  not 
what,  but  something  which  should  fix  and  retain 
Cecil. 

The  play  was  to  come  off  on  the  twelfth  of 
August,  and  on  the  eleventh,  just  for  a  respite,  to 
give  a  chance  to  take  breath  before  a  final  rehearsal, 
Rodney  proposed  a  little  picnic.  He  declared  that 
he  felt  an  inclination  to  rough  it ;  that  he  was  tired 
of  eating  from  a  table,  and  wanted  to  take  his  din- 
ner from  a  rock  ;  to  drink  out  of  a  bottle  ;  to  wear 
knickerbockers,  and  be  picturesque. 

This  was  what  he  told  Mrs.  Haxtoim  when  he 
went  over  to  invite  the  household.  They  would 


290  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

start  at  noon,  he  said,  and  drive  thirteen  miles,  to 
the  Devil's  Glen,  and  then  they  would  eat  acorns 
and  berries,  and  carry  out  all  the  details  of  an 
Arcadian  existence  through  the  afternoon,  return- 
ing at  dusk,  with  the  full  moon  rising  in  the  east. 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  declared  the  idea  to  be  charming. 
And  were  they  all  to  go? 

"  Certainly,"  said  Rodney.  "  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Haxtoun,  Cecil,  Alec,  Miss  Winchester,  Mr.  Snow, 
and  the  secretary,  Medhurst." 

"  Mr.  Medhurst  is  so  very  particularly  busy,"  said 
Mrs.  Haxtoun.  "Besides,  he" —  She  waited  to 
have  Eodney  take  her  idea,  but  he  merely  looked 
at  her  inquiringly,  and  she  was  obliged  to  finish. 
"He  never  seems  to  fit  into  our  grooves,"  she 
added. 

"Doesn't  he?"  asked  Rodney.  "He  does  not 
waste  himself,  I  admit ;  but  I  like  him.  I  will  ask 
him  to  come,  if  you  have  no  objection." 

"Oh,  none  in  the  world!"  said  Mrs.  Haxtoun. 
"  Besides,  Mrs.  Dalton  and  he  are  " — 

"Are  they?"  asked  Rodney,  eagerly. 

"So  he  told  Mr.  Haxtoun,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Hax- 
toun, who  still  had  doubts,  in  spite  of  the  brilliant 
illumination  with  which  her  husband  had  finally 
cleared  up  all  nysteries. 

"Do  you  know  why  I  am  getting  up  this  picnic?" 
asked  Rodney,  with  a  look  of  mischief. 

"You  are  always  doing  everything  that  is  most 
kind." 

"I  want  to  speak  to  Cecil,"  said  Rodney,  in  a 
very  soft  voice,  and  with  the  look  of  a  frightened 
little  boy  making  some  terrible  secret  audible. 


RODNEY  COMMITS  HIMSELF.  291 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  looked  as  much  fluttered  as  if  he 
were  making  love  to  her. 

"Speak  to  Cecil?"  she  repeated,  as  if  puzzled. 

"  Dou't  you  know  what  I  mean?  You  must  have 
seen,"  said  Rodney,  with  some  impatience.  "Surely 
you  must  understand  that,  if  I  can,  I  want  to  marry 
Miss  Haxtoun." 

"You  do  her  very  great  honor." 

"  Don't  say  that.  I  am  afraid  you  mean  that  I 
have  a  good  deal  to  offer  her.  I  should  not  be 
satisfied  if  she  took  me  in  that  way." 

Rodney  looked  singularly  disturbed.  His  pale 
face  was  flushed  and  his  eyes  sparkled.  "  It  means 
a  great  deal  to  me,"  he  said,  turning  his  eyes  away. 
"  By  the  time  a  man  is  as  old  as  I  am  he  has  tested 
so  many  things,  and  been  disappointed  so  many 
times.  I  could  not  bear  to  be  disappointed  in  my 
wife." 

"  Cecil  is  very  young,"  said  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  in  an 
even,  placid  manner.  "I  think  the  man  she 
married  would  find  her  sweet,  docile,  eager  to 
please  him.  She  is  spirited,  but" — 

Rodney  was  not  listening. 

"I  never  offered  myself  to  any  woman  before," 
said  he.  "  It  does  not  spring  from  cowardice  that 
I  shrink  a  little.  What  would  you  say  if  I  were  to 
ask  you  to  tell  Cecil  what  I  have  said?  Then,  if  she 
will  go  to  the  picnic  to-morrow  " —  He  paused  ;  he 
grew  pale.  "  On  my  word,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  know 
what  I  should  do  if  I  were  to  see  she  had  not 
come." 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  looked  down  at  her  two  pretty, 
capable  hands,  crossed  on  her  lap. 


292  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"I  think  she  is  almost  certain  to  go,"  she 
observed  quietly. 

Rodney's  face  cleared.  "  Then,"  said  he,  "  I  will 
walk  up  to  her  at  the  glen  and  say,  '  Miss  Haxtouu, 
will  you  climb  to  the  top  of  the  cliff  with  me?" 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  could  not  help  laughing  slightly. 
There  was  something  almost  infantile  in  Rodney's 
face  and  words.  A  child  could  not  have  spoken 
more  simply  and  gleefully. 

"  And  you  will  let  her  go  to  the  top  of  the  cliff 
with  me?  "  he  asked,  laughing  with  her. 

"  Yes,  under  the  circumstances." 

"  But  sometimes  }TOU  have  shaken  your  head,  and 
built  barricades  against  me." 

She  looked  at  him  indulgently.  She  liked  her 
future  son-in-law  very  much.  She  liked,  too,  the 
way  he  was  putting  his  offer  before  Cecil, —  so  much 
better  than  blurting  it  out  and  embarrassing  a  girl, 
almost  revolting  her.  Rodney  kissed  her  hand,  and 
went  into  the  study  to  give  his  invitation  to  Med- 
hurst,  who  was  copying  manuscript. 

"  You  are  coming  to  my  picnic  to-morrow,  at 
twelve  o'clock,"  Rodney  began  at  once.  "How 
would  you  like  best  to  go  ?  In  a  carriage  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  or" — 

"  I  can't  go  at  all,"  said  Medhurst.  "  A  picnic  ! 
Good  heavens !  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  It  was 
bad  enough  for  me  to  accept  a  part  in  the  play. 
I  lie  awake  nights,  and  reflect  what  a  fool  I  was  to 
mix  myself  up  in  such  matters  !  " 

'*  Naturally,  spending  all  your  time  on  an  immor- 
tal work  of  genius,  you  think  more  of  posterity  than 
of  this  fleeting  temporal  generation.  But  forget 


RODNEY  COMMITS  HIMSELF.          293 

posterity  for  once.  Come  and  have  a  cheerful  after- 
noon." 

"I  can't  go." 

u  I  insist  upon  it." 

"  Don't.  I  am  out  of  humor  with  myself  and 
with  all  the  world.  I  am  in  no  mood  for  picnics. 
I  am  in  no  mood  for  anything  save  getting  away 
from  here." 

"  Is  it  as  bad  as  that?" 

"  Yes." 

Rodney  looked  the  other  over.  Medhurst  cer- 
tainly wore  the  air  of  a  man  ill  at  ease.  "  I  wish  I 
might  do  something  for  37ou,"  said  he. 

"  You  can't.  We  have  to  look  after  ourselves,  — 
eat  for  ourselves,  digest  for  ourselves,  sleep  for  our- 
selves, act  and  walk  for  ourselves.  Above  all,  we 
have  to  settle  the  question  of  nerves  and  brains  for 
ourselves." 

"  It  is  a  question  of  nerves  and  brain,  is  it?" 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,  Hcriot,"  cried  Medhurst.  "  Go 
away  and  enjoy  yourself.  I  don't  begrudge  you  your 
good  luck.  I  like  to  think  there  is  a  man  to  whom 
everything  comes,  —  freedom  from  sordid  needs 
and  cares ;  whose  independence  is  not  crushed  out 
of  him  by  his  being  compelled  to  bend  double  under 
the  burden  of  making  his  own  living ;  who  is  not 
domineered  over  b}T  narrow  intellects,  and  who  need 
not  refuse  anything  ideal,  anj'thing  beautiful,  worthy, 
true,  satisfactory,  as  a  temptation  of  the  devil." 

Rodney  looked  confounded. 

"  Has  anything  happened?  "  he  asked. 

Medhurst  laughed.  "  Excuse  my  petulance.  I 
am  angry  and  out  of  sorts.  I  had  no  right  to  vent 


294  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

my  rage  upon  you,  however.  I  have  tried  to  give 
myself  up  to  this  life  for  a  time,  but  I  see  the  im- 
possibility of  it." 

Rodney  had  entertained  the  idea  of  sitting  down 
for  an  hour  with  Medhurst,  and  telling  him  what  his 
intentions  were  regarding  Miss  Haxtoun.  Consid- 
ering that  he  had  felt  some  twinges  of  jealousy 
about  Medhurst  this  might  seem  inconsistent.  But 
those  impressions  were  lost  sight  of  at  present.  He 
was  in  a  joyous  mood,  and  he  wanted  to  talk  over 
bis  many-tinted  feelings,  classify  and  analyze  them, 
and  from  Medhurst  alone  he  felt  sure  of  compre- 
hension. Rodney,  however,  was  no  egotist,  and  he 
saw  that  the  3'oung  fellow  had  some  trouble  of  his 
own  which  at  present  blurred  the  world  for  him.  His 
face  showed  restlessness,  impatience,  some  anger, 
but,  above  all,  a  hopeless  despondency. 

"  You  would  rather  have  me  go  away  now?  "  said 
Rodney. 

"Yes.  After  that  confounded  play  is  over  I  will 
pay  you  a  visit,  and  tell  you  where  I  stand  ;  for  by 
that  time  I  hope  to  have  made  up  my  mind." 

' '  And  you  will  not  come  to  my  picnic  ?  " 

"  Thank  you  ;  no.  If  they  are  all  away  I  shall 
rejoice  to  be  left  alone  in  this  silent  house." 

The  next  morning  was  as  fine  as  Rodney  could 
desire.  He  slept  but  little  through  the  night, 
and  that  by  snatches.  He  watched  the  day  dawn, 
having  flung  his  shutters  wide  open,  and,  lying  on  his 
bed,  he  could  see  the  flush  in  the  north-east,  the 
purple  shadows  withdrawing  and  leaving  only  a 
gauzy  veil  inwoven  with  flame  along  the  horizon.  He 
felt  the  peace  and  beauty  of  the  sunrise  like  a  beue- 


RODNEY   COMMITS   HIMSELF.  295 

diction.  The  sun  was  not  yet  above  the  tree-tops 
when  he  left  the  house.  He  crossed  the  lawn  to  the 
slables,  and  unchained  the  two  dogs,  —  Max,  the  Si- 
berian bloodhound,  and  Duke,  the  Gordon  setter,  — 
who  fawned  about  him  frantic  with  joy.  Rodney 
liked  their  gambols.  Max  could  wear  the  dignity  of 
a  dog  on  canvas  ;  but  Duke  was  hardly  past  his 
puppyhood,  and  was  the  most  beguiling  of  compan- 
ions, luring  the  old  hound  into  many  an  unseemly 
prank.  They  chased  each  other  ;  they  went  through 
mimic  battles  ;  they  rolled  over  and  over  in  a  close 
embrace,  pretending  to  bite  and  "snarl  and  chew 
each  other,  Max  occasionally  escaping  from  the 
game,  and  resuming  his  majesty  with  a  glance  at  his 
master  which  explained  the  reason  of  his  condescen- 
sion to  the  volatile  Duke.  Rodney  walked  through 
the  woods  to  the  meadows,  where  the  spider-webs 
were  stretched  over  the  crest  of  the  grasses,  and  their 
weft,  wet  with  the  dew,  sparkled  like  a  jewel-casket. 

"  That  is  the  sign  of  a  fair  day,"  said  Rodney  to 
himself. 

The  meadow  was  a  pasturage,  and,  while  he  was 
climbing  the  side  of  the  hill  at  whose  top  the  woods 
began  again,  a  cow-boy  let  down  the  bars  and  a  drove 
of  cows  came  winding  leisurely  in,  —  beautiful,  sleek, 
soft-faced  Alderneys,  and  two  pretty  Jersey  heifers, 
who  began  a  wild  riot  at  the  sight  of  the  clover, 
and  ran  towards  it  in  mad  haste.  The  dogs  resented 
this  intrusion,  and  set  up  a  furious  barking,  and 
it  was  all  Rodney  could  do  to  call  them  off. 

"  Be  quiet,  be  quiet,  I  say  ! "  he  cried,  and  bran- 
dished an  imaginary  weapon. 

lie  had  reached  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  strode 


296  A  MIDSUMMKE  MADNESS. 

forward,  hastily  driving  the  dogs  before  him,  into  the 
thick  -grove  of  oaks  and  chestnuts,  carpeted  with 
dark,  thin,  green  grass,  and  thick,  deep  moss  thickly 
strewn  with  acorn  windfalls. 

Something  moving  caught  the  dogs'  eyes  and 
Rodney's  simultaneously,  and  in  a  second  more,  at  a 
bound,  a  squirrel  was  far  up  the  trunk  of  a  chestnut, 
and  among  the  branches  could  look  safely  down 
and  laugh  at  the  despair  of  the  setter,  whose  blood 
was  on  fire  in  his  veins.  In  another  moment  both 
animals  dashed  furioush'  into  the  ferns  and  under- 
brush ;  a  rustling  noise  came  to  Rodney's  ears, 
a  cry  was  heard,  and  there  was  a  great  flapping  of 
wings,  as  some  ground-birds  flew  to  the  top  of  a 
bush. 

"  Come  here,  you  rascal !  Come  here,  I  say  !"  cried 
Rodney.  "What  mischief  are  you  up  to?  Come 
here,  I  say  !  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  his  tone,  and  both  dogs 
sneaked  out  of  the  thicket,  Duke  with  something  in 
his  month, —  something  soft,  fluffy,  palpitating,  the 
sight  of  which  turned  Rodney  absolutely  sick  with 
pain.  It  was  a  young  pheasant,  and  he  took  it  from 
the  setter  and  held  it  in  his  hand.  It  made  no  ef- 
fort to  escape ;  it  lay  quite  helpless,  giving  now  and 
then  a  convulsive  twitch ;  its  eyes  were  closed.  He 
hoped  it  had  merely  swooned  from  fright,  and  he 
waited,  believing  it  might  revive.  He  would  have 
given  much  to  see  it  fly  away. 

"  If  I  had  stayed  at  home  this  creature  would 
have  been  alive  still,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a 
profound  sensation  of  sorrow  and  remorse.  He 
did  not  blame  Duke ;  he  blamed  only  himself. 


RODNEY  COMMITS  HIMSELF.  297 

He  sought  out  a  little  mossy  nook  at  the  foot  of 
a  half -dead  oak,  and  laid  the  bird  there.  He 
felt  as  if  the  pitiful  sight  of  the  rumpled  feathers 
would  haunt  him  evermore.  The  dogs  understood 
his  sombre  mood,  and  eyed  their  victim  with  contri- 
tion, slinking  after  him  close  to  his  heels  as  he  went 
a  little  deeper  into  the  wood  and  washed  his  hands 
at  the  spring. 

"  I  am  just  such  an  animal  as  the}'  are,"  he  said 
to  himself.  His  blithe  mood  was  over.  When  he 
came  out  a  new  world  had  seemed  opening  to  him. 
Now,  he  felt  that  he  was  an  accursed  egotist,  who 
•asked  too  much ;  he  had  no  right  to  go  on  satisfying 
himself  in  this  selfish  way. 

But  by  the  time  noon  came,  and  the  pickniciug 
party  was  setting  out,  he  had  regained  some  sort  of 
equipoise. 


298  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A     PICNIC. 

MRS.  ESTE  was  to  take  Mr.  Haxtoun  and 
Cecil  to  the  picnic  in  the  landau,  while  Mrs. 
Haxtoun,  Alec,  and  Mrs.  Dalton  were  to  go  in  the 
barouche.  Arthur  Snow  was  to  drive  Miss  Win- 
chester in  the  pony  carriage,  and  Rodney  was  to 
have  an  old  friend,  named  Edmunds,  with  him  in  the 
T-cart.  But  Rodney  told  Edmunds  to  drive  on,  and 
he  accompanied  his  mother  to  the  Haxtouns'  and 
waited  for  the  party  to  assemble  there. 

The  family  seemed  to  be  gathered  on  the  veranda, 
but  Cecil  was  not  among  them.  No  one  would  have 
known  exactly  how  much  the  girl's  absence  meant  to 
Rodney  when  he  asked  her  mother  where  she  was. 

"  She  is  coming,"  Mrs.  Haxtoun  replied,  impas- 
sively, and  without  meeting  Rodney's  eyes.  She 
went  in,  and  presently  reappeared  with  her  daugh- 
ter, who  looked  serious,  pale,  and  rather  haughty. 
She  gave  a  comprehensive  little  nod,  but  did  not 
once  glance  towards  Rodney,  who  acknowledged 
her  presence  with  a  deep  salam. 

"  May  I  put  you  in  the  carriage?"  he  asked,  and 
took  her  hand  in  his  and  led  her  down  the  steps,  and 
only  resigned  her  when  she  was  seated  beside  his 
mother.  Mr.  Haxtoun  followed,  well  burdened  with 
plaids,  water-proofs,  overshoes,  and  umbrellas. 


A  PICNIC.  299 

"Dear  me  ! "  said  Mrs.  Est6,  with  her  little  shriek. 
"Do  you  suppose  we  are  likely  to  get  drenched? 
Shakespeare  says,  '  When  clouds  are  seen,  wise  men 
put  on  their  cloaks ' ;  but  we  can  have  the  carriage- 
top  put  up." 

"  The  weather  indications  are  for  showers  and 
falling  barometer,"  said  Mr.  Haxtoun;  "and  it 
seems  better  to  play  a  prudent  part.  Besides,  if  we 
sit  on  the  ground,  we  shall  want  water-proofs." 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  put  my  old  bones  in  jeopardy. 
I  like  to  go  on  a  picnic  once  a  year,  to  refresh  my 
memory  of  what  a  horrid  bore  it  is.  I  should  have 
declined  this,  but  I  hate  to  leave  off  doing  things. 
One  gets  so  narrowed  down  and  limited  by  the 
years,  one  should  only  give  up  what  one  is  com- 
pelled to." 

While  Mr.  Haxtoun  was  settling  himself  and 
his  belongings,  Rodney,  on  the  other  side,  leaned 
his  arm  on  the  door,  and  gazed  into  Cecil's  face. 
His  head  was  so  near  hers  one  might  have  thought 
he  said  something  in  an  inaudible  voice,  but  he 
could  not  have  spoken  to  save  his  life.  She,  on  her 
side,  gazed  back  at  him  as  if  both  terrified  and 
fascinated. 

"Are  you  coming,  Rodney?"  asked  Mrs.  Este", 
"  or  shall  Peter  drive  on?" 

Rodney  wrenched  himself  away,  raised  his  hat, 
and  walked  down  the  avenue,  meeting  the  T-cart  on 
the  road.  He  jumped  in,  took  the  reins  from 
Edmunds,  and  headed  the  party,  distancing  them 
by  a  mile  or  more  the  first  quarter  of  an  hour.  It 
was  easy  for  Edmunds  to  see  that  Heriot  was  burn- 
ing a  good  deal  of  fuel  to-day  ;  but  he  did  not,  with 


300  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

intrusive  curiosity,  seek  to  discover  where  it  all  came 
from.  Rodney  was  evidently  furiously  in  earnest 
about  something.  The  guest  asked  occasional  ques- 
tions about  the  country  through  which  they  were 
passing,  and  was  answered  clearly  and  definitely 
enough.  They  reached  the  glen  almost  three-quar- 
ters of  an  hour  before  the  rest  of  the  party,  and 
Rodney  occupied  himself  in  sending  the  servants, 
who  were  already  getting  out  the  cold  lunch,  hither 
and  thither.  He  chose  a  place  for  the  wine-cellar, 
and  showed  them  how  to  lay  the  ice. 

They  had  brought  half-a-dozen  steamer-chairs, 
which  were  placed  on  a  rug,  and  preparations  for 
everybody's  comfort  were  being  made  in  an  exact 
and  substantial  way,  which  showed  what  advantages 
could  be  wrested  from  a  situation  habitually  asso- 
ciated with  discomfort. 

"  This  is  not  so  bad,  you  see,  Mr.  Haxtoun,"  Mrs. 
Est6  said  to  him  when  the  party  arrived.  "You 
can  have  your  feet  on  a  Turkey  rug,  and  your  body  on 
a  cushioned  seat ;  and  under  these  circumstances 
one  may  give  one's  self  up  to  enjoyment.  Just  look 
at  the  tops  of  the  trees  against  the  sky !  See  the 
sunlight  flickering  through  that  dome  of  green ! 
Oh,  how  lovely  nature  is !  Why  should  not  one 
always  live  here  among  trees  and  moss?" 

"Damp  !  damp  ! "  returned  Mr.  Haxtoun,  gloomily. 
He  had  put  on  his  rubber  shoes,  and  was  now 
arranging  a  shawl  over  his  shoulders.  "  Do  you 
happen  to  know,"  he  asked,  in  a  preternatural  sort 
of  voice,  "what  there  is  to  be  for  lunch?" 

"  Salads,  mayonnaise,  and  cold  pies,"  said  Mrs. 
Este\ 


A   PICNIC.  301 

He  shuddered.  "  I  don't  know  why  I  came,"  he 
said  plaintively.  "Mrs.  Haxtoun  made  a  point  of 
it ;  if  the  results  of  this  picnic  are  that  she  is 
left  a  widow  I  am  not  sure  but  that  she  ought  to  be 
answerable  for  it." 

"  You  shall  have  some  of  my  nice,  hot,  nourishing 
bouillon,"  said  Mrs.  Este,  soothingly.  "  They  have 
got  a  little  silver  apparatus  to  heat  it  with,  and  can 
give  it  to  me  just  as  I  have  it  at  home." 

The  place  had  a  good  deal  of  character  and 
charm.  On  the  south  rose  a  high  wall  of  rock, 
which  seemed,  towards  the  top,  to  have  been 
smoothed  with  a  chisel,  it  was  so  polished  and  so 
bare  ;  below,  it  was  broken  ;  the  massive  blocks  were 
piled  on  one  another  in  confusion,  and  in  the  wide 
crevices  was  a  perfect  luxuriance  of  vegetation, 
—  hemlocks,  pines,  dwarfed  maples,  and  laurels. 
Many  of  the  trees  seemed  to  cling  to  the  sheer  rock, 
and  had  only  half  saved  themselves  from  being 
carried  away  by  the  spring  torrents.  At  the  foot 
of  the  cliff  a  noisy  stream  rushed  along,  now  bab- 
bling over  shallows,  again  sleeping  in  pools  which 
overflowed  into  cascades. 

The  young  people  declared  the  gorge  charming, 
and  found  rare  preciousness  in  the  glimpses  of  the 
far-off  sky,  against  which  the  tassels  of  the  pines 
moved  perpetually.  Alec  devoted  himself  to  Mrs. 
Dalton,  Edmunds  took  Cecil,  and  Arthur  and  Lilly 
wandered  about  as  usual,  coupled  and  insepa- 
rable. Mrs.  Dalton  amused  herself  with  Alec,  and 
put  him  through  a  course  of  training  which  she 
thought  calculated  to  do  him  good.  She  did  not 
allow  herself  to  be  too  easily  pleased.  Nobody 


302  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

else  was  ready  to  suffer  martyrdom  for  her  sake  at 
present,  and  Alec's  prodigality  of  self-sacrifice 
ought  not  to  be  wasted.  She  asked  for  some  laurel- 
leaves,  and  he  climbed  half-way  up  the  cliff  to  get 
the  glossiest  for  her.  She  saw  a  remarkable-looking 
stone  at  the  bottom  of  the  brook,  and,  when  she 
insisted,  it  was  disembedded  at  some  risk,  for 
the  water  was  so  clear  it  gave  no  idea  of  its  actual 
depth.  Alec  had  put  on  his  prettiest  summer 
clothes,  and,  as  may  be  imagined,  these  labors  were 
quite  unsuited  to  the  delicate  lavender  of  the 
trousers.  But  he  dared  not  think  of  the  results,  with 
the  widow's  half -satirical,  half -sweetly  expectant 
gaze  upon  him.  His  soul  burned  within  him  with 
envy  to  see  Rodney  Heriot  in  dark-blue  knicker- 
bockers, easy,  untrammelled,  and  particularly 
handsome. 

"  I  say,"  said  he  to  Arthur  Snow,  when  he  had  a 
moment  of  opportunity,  just  before  lunch,  "why 
couldn't  you  and  I  have  had  the  sense  to  come 
properly  dressed?  I've  smeared  my  knees  with 
clay,  and  stained  them  green  besides.  And  I  heard 
a  stitch  give  way,  by  Jove,  I  did  !  I  wish  you  would 
look  and  see  if  it  is  all  right." 

"How  can  I  look?"  asked  Arthur.  "Mrs. 
Dal  ton  is  staring  straight  at  me." 

"She  isn't  looking  at  you  ;  she  is  looking  at  me." 
"  I  tell  you  she  is  looking  straight  at  me." 
"  Never  mind,  go  on.     It  isn't  as  if  it  were  Lilly." 
"Lilly  wouldn't  stare  us  out  of   countenance," 
said  Arthur,  in  a  tone  of   indignation.     "  But   no 
matter.     I  think  the  seams  are  strained ;  but  if  you 
are  prudent "  — 


A  PICNIC.  303 

Alec  groaned  within  himself,  with  a  lively  wish 
which  contained  no  ingredient  of  expectation  that 
Mrs.  Dalton  might  be  prudent.  He  was  too  much 
enamored  at  present  to  be  able  to  look  out  for  his 
own  preservation.  He  was  not  master  of  his  acts  ; 
she  dictated  them.  Besides,  as  all  men  know,  fair 
Cunigunde,  sending  her  lover  into  the  lion's  jaws  to 
pick  up  her  glove,  is  the  model  of  every  woman  on  a 
pleasure-excursion . 

By  this  time  Mr.  Haxtoun  and  Mrs.  Este"  were 
drinking  bouillon,  to  keep  off  the  chill,  while  Mrs. 
Haxtoun  sought,  with  the  finest  tact  and  spirit,  to 
persuade  them  that  the  day  was  charming,  the  warmth 
genial,  and  the  moss  dry  as  a  Persian  rug  which  has 
six  times  crossed  the  desert.  Mrs.  Este*  had  at  first 
been  a  little  carried  away  by  the  romantic  charm  of 
the  glen,  — she  was  always  ready  to  kindle  at 
romance,  —  but  Mr.  Haxtoun  had  depressed  her. 
She  began  to  think  about  dampness  and  malaria ; 
she  analyzed  her  sensations,  to  discover  whether 
they  were  normal ;  she  had  the  tiger-skin  brought 
for  her  feet ;  she  questioned  her  son  as  to  what  time 
he  thought  they  might  get  home. 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  had  gone  the  road  to  pleasure 
before  like  a  convict  with  a  weight  chained  to  his 
leg,  and  did  not  relax  her  efforts  to  pique,  interest, 
and  rouse  her  husband.  She  had  come  to  the 
picnic  with  a  purpose,  and  intended  that  the  pur- 
pose should  be  carried  out.  She  selected  all  the 
nicest  bits  of  the  luncheon  for  the  old  gentleman 
without  thought  of  the  possible  consequences,  and 
when  he  demurred  said  :  — 

"  Oh,  in  this  fresh,  delicious  air,  with  this  healthy 


304  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

resinous  odor  coming  from  the  evergreens,  you  can 
eat  anything,  my  clear." 

Mr.  Haxtoun  began  mildly  to  be  cheered.  He 
took  some  old  Madeira,  of  strange  potency,  and 
promised  soon  to  be  a  little  inebriated. 

"  Tell  Mrs.  Este  about  your  great  discovery  of  a 
new  epic,  dearest  Leonard,"  now  suggested  the  inde- 
fatigable wife. 

"  Not  a  new  epic.  What  can  you  mean?  A  new 
idea  in  the  epic,  which  even  Max  Miiller  has  over- 
looked," said  Mr.  Haxtoun.  The  subject  was  dear 
to  him,  and  comparatively  new  ;  he  thought  about 
it  constantly,  with  ever  fresh  amplifications. 

Mrs.  Este  gave  a  little  shriek  of  delight  to  think 
of  a  delightful  new  idea,  and  nestled  among  her 
wraps  to  assume  the  best  attitude  of  attention,  with 
a  look  at  the  old  gentleman  as  if  she  were  breathless 
with  interest  and  admiration.  He  began  to  expound 
at  once,  with  unmixed,  unchecked  delight  at  his 
opportunity,  and  she  tried  to  keep  up  with  him. 
She  plied  her  parasol,  her  fan,  her  vinaigrette;  she 
pinched  herself,  she  shook  herself,  she  gave  little 
screams.  Mr.  Haxtoun  meantime  revolved  round 
his  subject  with  large,  fluent,  and  impressive  sen- 
tences. Its  vagueness,  magnitude,  remoteness,  just 
suited  him ;  there  was  no  necessity  for  fixed  con- 
clusions, because  there  was  no  possibility  of  attain- 
ing any ;  talking  about  it  was  like  pouring  water 
into  empty  sieves,  rolling  a  stone  up-hill,  and  then 
down  again.  Mrs.  Este's  exclamations  grew  fainter 
and  fainter,  —  they  ceased  entirely :  she  slept. 
Mr.  Haxtoun,  nevertheless,  neither  paused  nor 
slackened,  —  he  had  his  subject,  and  that  was 


A  PICNIC.  305 

enough.  By  a  judicious  "Indeed,"  "Exactly,  I 
see  the  force  of  your  remarks,"  at  intervals,  Mrs. 
Haxtoun  kept  him  rushing  on  with  a  steady 
stream. 

Cecil  had  sat  very  quietly  under  the  trees  with 
Lilly  Winchester.  Now  and  then  Rodney  Heriot 
had  gone  up  to  her,  but  he  had  scarcely  broken  the 
silence  which  had  fallen  between  them.  When  the 
luncheon  was  over  he  said,  "  Will  you  go  to  the 
top  of  the  cliff  with  me?"  and  watched  the  little 
trembling  of  her  lips  and  the  drop  of  her  eyelids  as 
she  rose.  He  did  not  look  at  her,  nor  she  at  him. 
He  did  not  speak  to  her.  They  went  down  the 
glen,  along  the  side  of  the  bank,  until  they  reached 
the  stepping-stones,  and  then  he  took  her  hand  to 
help  her  across,  and  did  not  again  let  it  go.  They 
climbed  the  first  ledge  thus,  hand  in  hand. 

"  Are  you  tired?  "  Rodney  asked,  looking  into  her 
face. 

She  seemed  a  little  breathless.  She  was  pale,  and 
her  eyes  had  the  large,  serious  gaze  of  an  awed 
child. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  want  to  do  just  what  you  would  wish  to  do," 
said  he. 

He  was  deeply  stirred  as  he  thus  gazed  at  her. 
His  eyes  were  blinded  with  tears,  his  lips  trembled. 
"My  dear  —  my  dearest  —  my  precious  little  one!'' 
said  he,  the  words  coming  from  him  as  if  pressed 
forth  by  some  force  stronger  than  himself.  "I 
want  to  be  so  good  to  you,"  he  continued,  with  an 
odd  half -laugh.  "  May  I  fall  on  the  ground,  and 
kiss  your  feet  ?  " 


306  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Let  us  go  on,"  she  said,  in  a  dull,  monotonous 
voice,  quite  unlike  her  own. 

They  went  on.  The  path  was  narrow,  and  they 
could  not  walk  abreast,  but  he  would  not  release  her 
hand.  His  emotion  scared  him,  and  he  began  to 
jest  and  talk  fantastically.  He  found  out  an  echo 
and  called  to  it ;  he  sang  little  snatches  of  songs. 
A  stone  was  in  the  way,  and  with  the  point  of  his 
boot  he  threw  it  from  the  path,  and  it  went 
thundering  down  the  precipice.  He  pretended  to 
be  in  horror  lest  it  should  fall  on  somebody's  head ; 
he  pictured  possible  catastrophes ;  he  found  him- 
self culpable  of  matricide  or  fratricide. 

"  For  your  father  is  my  father  now,  is  he  not?" 
he  asked,  putting  his  face  close  to  Cecil's,  with  the 
intonation  of  a  mischievous  little  boy. 

But  no  sign  on  that  immovable,  pale  face  an- 
swered his  light  words. 

He  fell  into  silence  again,  and  looked  at  Cecil. 
She  wore  a  suit  of  dark  red,  a  wide-brimmed  black 
hat  with  red  plumes.  His  eyes  fixed  insatiably 
upon  the  clear,  pure  profile ;  he  had  never  felt 
loveliness  before.  He  knew  not  what  of  all  that 
was  in  his  heart  he  dared  utter  aloud.  He  was 
afraid  of  frightening  her.  To  his  generosity,  to  his 
magnanimity,  he  said  to  himself,  there  must  be  no 
bounds.  He  must  not  talk  of  love  to  her ;  only  of 
what  would  neither  terrify,  flutter,  nor  embarrass 
her.  Still,  he  wanted  one  little  word,  one  little 
sign ;  it  was  not  enough  that  she  had  come  to-day, 
had  let  him  bring  her  to  the  top  of  the  cliff ;  he 
must  have  just  one  little  token  of  consent,  of 
surrender. 


A  PICNIC.  307 

They  were,  by  this  time,  on  the  heights,  and 
could  look  down  upon  the  vast  sea  of  foliage,  —  oak 
trees,  chestnuts,  maples,  rich  in  leaf,  with  their 
brilliant  and  luminous  tints  against  the  darker,  duller 
green  of  the  resinous  trees  ;  they  could  hear  the  glad 
music  of  the  brook  among  the  boulders  far  below, 
but  could  not  gain  a  glimpse  of  it.  Here,  at  the  top 
of  the  cliff,  a  few  old  oaks  and  cedars,  overrun  with 
creepers,  whose  bunches  of  leaves  hung  like  festive 
garlands,  kept  off  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  the  air 
was  fresher  than  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  Not 
a  living  creature  seemed  near ;  not  even  a  bird's 
song  broke  the  silence. 

"  Cecil,"  muttered  Rodney,  at  last,  dropping  her 
hand,  "  will  you  not  look  at  me?" 

He  was  flushed  with  excitement,  she  was  pale  as 
death.  She  seemed  under  the  constraint  of  some 
imprisoning  consciousness  which  she  could  not 
shake  off. 

"  Cecil,"  he  cried,  "  oh,  for  God's  sake,  speak  to 
me!" 

But  she  did  not  answer.  Her  breath  came  in 
quick,  short  gasps.  Rodney  stood  for  a  moment  wait- 
ing for  her  reply,  then  half-fell,  half-flung  himself  on 
the  ground  at  her  feet,  and  so  looked,  up  into  her  face. 

"  If  you  won't  take  me,  Cecil,"  said  he,  "  let  me 
fling  myself  over  the  rocks.  I  cannot  live  without 
you." 

"What  shall  I  say?"  she  asked,  with  a  visible 
shudder,  but  with  the  blood  rushing  to  her  cheeks. 

He  caught  her  hand  and  kissed  it  on  the  palm. 

"Don't  say  anything,"  he  answered.  "  This  is 
enough.  It  is  enough  that  you  are  here  with  me. 


308  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Only  tell  me  one  thing,  —  you  are  going  to  try  to 
love  me?" 

She  looked  down  at  him  now  with  a  definite,  in- 
tent glance.  "I  promised  mamma,"  she  said,  in  a 
low,  clear  voice. 

"  That  you  would  try  to  love  me  ?  " 

"Yes." 

He  looked  up  at  her,  absolutely  ravished  with 
happiness.  He  was  not  certain  but  that  he  liked 
this  mystery,  this  sweet  uncertainty,  better  than  the 
full  revelation  ;  for  how  could  he  have  borne  that  ? 
To  have  been  free  to  take  her  in  his  arms,  to  clasp 
her  to  his  breast,  would  have  been  too  much. 

"You  believe  in  me, — you  trust  me,  do  you 
not?"  he  asked,  tremulously. 

"  I  do  not  feel  that  I  know  you  yet." 

Their  eyes  met,  —  his  showed  an  unusual  brilliancy 
of  glance,  a  vivacity  and  strength  beyond  her  ex- 
perience of  him,  while  hers  were  timid  and  rather 
sad.  There  was  no  spontaneity  about  her,  and, 
although  she  had  shown  agitation,  it  was  not  in 
answer  to  his,  but  the  result  of  some  poignant  feel- 
ing of  her  own. 

"  Mamma  says,"  she  now  went  on,  "  that  it  is  a 
great  honor  —  a  great  chance  for  me  —  to  become 
your  wife  ;  that  nothing  in  the  world  could  content 
her  so  well." 

He  lost  color  a  little.     He  rose. 

"  Come  and  sit  down  on  this  log,"  said  he.  "  Do 
you  know,  I  rode  over  here  yesterday,  and  looked  at 
this  place?  I  wanted  a  seat  here,  and  I  dragged 
this  trunk  from  the  foot  of  those  locust-trees.  I 


A  PICNIC.  309 

thought  to  myself  then,  '  Perhaps  Cecil  will  sit  here 
with  me.' " 

He  looked  into  her  face  and  laughed. 

"  My  wish  is  coming  to  pass." 

He  led  her  to  the  log,  and  she  sat  down.  He  flung 
himself  on  the  grass  before  her  at  full  length. 

"At  your  feet,"  said  he.  "  Perhaps  some  day 
you  will  say,  '  Friend,  come  up  higher.'  " 

There  was  irresistible  whim  in  his  voice,  and  his 
eyes  lit  with  some  amusement. 

"Did  your  mother  tell  you  I  loved  you  very 
much  ?  "  he  now  asked. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  do,"  said  he,  in  a  delightful  voice.  "  I  think 
of  you  all  the  time.  The  first  night  I  ever  saw  you 
I  fell  in  love.  You  were  perpetually  yawning,  and 
I  fancy  that  was  what  bewitched  me." 

She  smiled  a  little,  —  she  could  not  help  it. 

"  You  are  so  grudging  and  so  chary,"  he  went  on, 
"  that  I  have  little  else  to  tell.  If  you  have  not 
yawned  you  have  snubbed  me,  you  have  eluded  me, 
you  have  laughed  at  me  ;  but  I  have  gone  on  loving 
you.  I  did  not  realize  it  at  first,  or  I  should  have 
run  away.  I'm  afraid  of  this  feeling ;  it  is  stronger 
than  myself." 

They  looked  at  each  other,  tremulously  and  seri- 
ously. 

"I  know  what  it  all  means,"  he  said,  presently. 
"  I  used  to  think  life  had  nothing  equal  to  our 
dreams.  For  years  I  went  on  trying  everything,  con- 
suming myself  in  vain  regrets  that  I  could  find  noth- 
ing. But  now  "  — 

He  wrenched  himself  away  from  the  grasp  of  his 


310  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

passion.  "  I'll  be  good  to  you,"  he  began  again 
swiftly.  "I  have  been  a  brute  sometimes,  but  — 
I  will  be  very  good  to  you.  That  is  what  I  am  all 
the  time  thinking  about.  I  keep  you  close  at  my  side. 
I  fancy  you  are  cold,  and  I  wrap  you  in  soft,  warm 
things.  I  say  to  you,  'What  would  you  like,  my  little 
one  ?  Where  will  you  go  ?  '  Perhaps  it  is  &  twi- 
light walk  you  will  be  taking,  and  we  set  off,  you 
oa  my  arm,  —  not  here,  but  in  some  beautiful  part 
of  the  Old  World  where  I  have  been  before,  all 
alone,  — where  I  have  longed  for  you.  Perhaps  we 
go  upon  the  water  in  some  tranquil  bay,  with  lovely 
shores  and  high  wooded  hills,  where  the  waters  are 
golden,  and  the  oars  take  the  sunset  light,  as  they 
come  up  dripping.  Or  we  are  in  cities,  and  we 
drive  about  in  great  glee  ;  we  order  dinners  at  cafes ; 
that  is,  I  order  them  for  you.  I  say  to  you,  '  My 
little  wife,  I  will  give  you  such  a  meal  as  you  never 
ate  before  in  your  life,'  and  I  write  out  the  menu  while 
you  sit  and  wait.  Then  you  hate  the  strange,  sa- 
vory, but  too  complex  dishes,  and  I  tell  you,  '  You 
shall  live  on  biscuit  and  cream,  —  a  baby's  diet 
best  suits  a  little  girl  like  you.' "  He  laughed  irre- 
sistibly. ' '  You  will  see  all  the  pictures  too,  —  I 
will  teach  you  how  to  look  at  pictures.  And  you 
shall  climb  the  Alps,  very  carefully ;  but  you  are 
young  and  strong,  and  you  ought  to  do  it  once. 
But  we  are  not  always  going  about,  —  we  sit  by  the 
fire  together ;  you  have  on  such  pretty  little  slip- 
pers ;  your  feet  are  cold  ;  you  "  —  He  broke  off  ; 
he  laughed,  but  his  eyes  were  shining.  "  Oh,  what 
a  wonder  you  will  make  of  the  world  for  me  !  "  he 
said,  very  low  under  his  breath,  and  stopped  short, 


A  PICNIC.  311 

his  blood  tingling  with  ecstasy  at  this  new,  strange 
expectation. 

Cecil  sat  looking  down  at  him  seriously,  with  di- 
lated eyes.  "  The  sooner  you  fall  in  love  with  me 
the  better  ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  some  imperiousness. 
"  I  will  be  patient  a  little  while  ;  but  then  I  shall 
be  very  impatient,  —  a  very  demon  of  impatience  !  " 

While  he  said  this  some  feeling  rushed  over  her, 
drowning  all  her  consciousness  like  a  flood  ;  her  face 
sank  on  her  breast,  and  she  covered  it  with  her 
hands. 

In  a  moment  he  was  leaning  over  her,  —  he  had 
his  arm  about  her.  ' '  I  have  said  too  much  ;  for- 
give me, —  forgive  me,"  said  he.  "Tell  me  what 
it  is." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  streaming  eyes. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  not  to  listen,"  she  said,  be- 
tween her  sobs.  "Your  words  mean  so  much  to 
you,  but  to  me  they  mean  so  little  ;  they  " — 

"Don't  mistrust  me.  Trust  me  absolutely.  I 
will  not  be  impatient ;  I  did  not  intend  to  say  that. 
Don't  be  worried  about  the  future."  Still  looking 
at  him  her  terror  and  her  distrust  vanished.  "  We 
won't  be  even  engaged,"  he  said  ;  "  that  is,  to  have 
anybody  know  about  it  but  your  mother  and  our- 
selves, until  you  get  used  to  the  idea." 

'*  You  are  very  good  to  me,"  she  faltered. 

"Ami?"  He  looked  at  her  long  and  steadily. 
"  I  want  to  be  good  to  you,"  he  said  then  ;  "  for  I 
want  you  to  love  me.  I  want  you  to  love  me  with 
your  whole  heart.  And  I  am  not  unworthy,  — I 
swear  to  you  I  am  not  unworthy.  I  am  swept  :md 
garnished  for  you.  Nothing  that  does  not  belong 


312  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

to  you  can  enter  in.  O  my  little  love !  —  my  lit- 
tle love ! " 

He  was  still  bending  over  her. 

"  My  little  love  !  "  he  said  again,  "  I  want  to  do 
something  that  shall  content  you.  Shall  I  fling  my- 
self over  the  rocks  there,  and  take  myself  out  of 
your  sight  and  thought  forever  ?  " 

With  a  stinging  sense  of  her  own  ingratitude 
she  caught  his  hand  in  hers. 

"  Don't  say  such  things  !  "  she  whispered. 

The  action  delighted  him  ;  he  lifted  the  little  hand 
and  kissed  it.  ' '  And  to  think,"  he  exclaimed,  ' '  that 
I  may  go  to  New  York  and  buy  a  ring  for  this 
little  hand !  " 

At  this  moment  the  scene  was  interrupted  by  one 
of  the  men  who  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  rocks, 
shrieking,  volubly  and  shrilly,  that  all  was  packed 
up  and  the  party  ready  to  start ;  that  a  storm  was 
at  hand. 

Brought  back  to  his  senses  Rodney  saw  that  great 
clouds  had  gathered ;  that  the  sun  was  blackly 
obscured ;  that  the  whole  character  of  the  day  had 
changed.  What  had  to  be  instantly  done  was  to 
hurry  Cecil  down  the  zigzagging  path,  which,  under 
the  dense  foliage,  was  almost  as  dark  as  night.  The 
ravine  seemed  a  very  gulf  of  blackness.  The  wind 
roared  through  the  trees,  and  when  they  could  catch 
sight  of  the  sky  it  showed  great  masses  of  vapor, 
merging,  separating,  driven  asunder  and  apart. 
Only  one  carnage  waited,  and  into  that  Rodney 
bundled  Cecil,  and,  at  the  next  instant,  at  one 
swoop  the  rain  fell.  He  sat  on  the  box  all  the 
way  home,  nevertheless.  The  rain  seemed  a  glad 
thing  to  him. 


A   SOIREE  DRAMATIQUE.  313 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

A      SOIREE      DRAMATIQUE. 

next  day  rose  fair  enough ;  and  dies  irce  as 
it  was  for  manager  and  actors,  it  needed  to  be 
fair.  At  the  very  sight  of  Mr.  Stein,  walking  about 
the  stage,  rechalking  all  the  lines  for  the  furniture, 
the  group  of  amateurs  turned  pale.  He  was,  to 
begin  with,  at  the  white  heat  into  which  he  usually 
worked  himself  by  the  end  of  the  rehearsal,  and 
those  signs  of  exasperation  boded  ill  to  every  one  of 
them.  He  was  not  even  pleased  with  Mrs.  Dalton 
to-day  ;  he  disdained  her  remarks,  and  rejected,  with 
a  sort  of  fury,  all  her  suggestions.  The  "  leading 
lady  "  could  afford  to  shrug  her  shoulders  at  the 
manager's  ill-temper,  but  not  so  the  lesser  dramatis 
persona^.  The  rehearsal  went  badly.  A  last  re- 
hearsal is  apt  to  go  badly,  but  a  good  omen  for  the 
public  performance  is  said  to  blossom  out  of  a  bad 
final  rehearsal.  Mr.  Stein  ignored,  however,  any 
pleasing  predictions  for  the  evening.  Not  one  of 
the  minor  actors  seemed  to  know  his  or  her  part ; 
exits  and  entrances  were  all  wrong.  All  spirit  was 
flatly  gone  out  of  the  play,  and  the  whole  thing 
dragged.  Not  even  Mrs.  Dalton  and  Rodney  Heriot 
could  infuse  life  into  the  piece.  Cecil  was  languid 
and  lifeless.  Alec  tripped  constantly  in  his  text, 


314  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

overacted,  lost  his  points,  and  showed  a  tendency 
to  introduce  "  gags,"  which  infuriated  the  manager. 
In  fact,  it  was  a  stormy  scene,  and  it  was  an  expe- 
rience to  inspire  despair.  The  acts,  repeated  over 
and  over,  stretched  out  endlessly ;  the  actors  went 
out  by  turns,  when  they  had  a  moment  off  the  stage, 
and  drank  coffee  and  ate  sandwiches,  then  dispir- 
itedly returned  to  the  business  of  the  hour.  Innu- 
merable questions  arose  concerning  every  scene,  and 
everybody's  legs  and  elbows.  The  play  fairly  bris- 
tled with  difficulties,  hitherto  overlooked  or  post- 
poned. 

To  Medhurst  it  was  a  long  day.  He  had  never 
forgiven  himself  for  consenting  to  take  a  part,  and 
his  annoyance  had  grown  with  each  succeeding  expe- 
rience of  the  play.  He  was  never  over-pliant  to  the 
requirements  of  a  new  situation.  He  had  none  of 
that  easy  strategy  which  allows  a  man  to  seize  what 
he  finds  essential,  and  disembarrasses  himself  of 
what  is  trivial  or  annoying.  His  part  was  a  dry 
one,  although  most  of  the  plot  of  the  play  hung  on 
the  details  of  it.  He  was  perpetually  thrown  into 
contact  with  Arthur  Snow  and  Miss  Winchester,  who 
showed  themselves  to-day  so  imperfect  in  their 
roles  that  the  scenes  had  to  be  gone  through  over  and 
over  again.  The  mere  reiteration  was  depressing 
and  irritating  enough,  but  Mr.  Stein's  jtemper  made 
it  unbearable.  He  shrieked,  he  screamed,  he  tore 
his  hair,  he  stamped  his  feet.  By  following  his 
directions  one  could  gain  no  advantage  ;  by  rejecting 
them  one  was  almost  torn  to  pieces.  For  a  time 
Medhurst  supposed  that  he,  as  well  as  the  others, 
was  the  object  of  these  spirited  invectives,  and 


A   SOIREE  DRAMATIQUE.  315 

infused  as  much  correctness  into  his  part  as  he  was 
master  of,  although  it  seemed  to  be  of  no  use.  But 
presently  Mr.  Stein,  perhaps  by  way  of  adding 
fresh  bitterness  to  his  fault-finding,  made  the 
amende,  and  offered  his  polite  condolences  for  Med- 
hurst's  being  compelled  to  suffer  for  the  clumsy  and 
stupid  performance  of  the  others. 

This  was  unfortunate.  Arthur  Snow  had  grown 
each  day  more  aggressive  and  more  impertinent  to 
Medhurst.  At  first  ttie  latter  had  received  these 
manifestations  as  if  they  had  been  the  general 
petty  signs  of  life  given  by  an  unhappy  and  suffer- 
ing cur ;  but  he  began  to  see  that  they  were  ad- 
dressed to  himself.  Arthur  Snow  was  evidently 
enraged  with  him,  for  some  unknown  cause ;  and, 
whatever  might  have  lighted  the  fire,  Medhurst 
could  easily  see  that  Mr.  Stein's  words  added  fresh 
fuel  to  it.  The  little  fellow  perpetually  snarled ;  he 
swore  under  his  breath ;  he  scowled  at  Medhurst 
when  he  saw  him  in  his  way,  and  would  not  turn 
out.  Nature  had  not  made  Medhurst  very  patient ; 
but  he  bore  this  for  the  time.  The  play  was 
Rodney  Heriot's,  and  he  would  not  complicate  its 
difficulties  by  private  quarrels.  He  continued  to  go 
through  his  part  as  if  by  mechanism ;  his  face 
showed  neither  vexation,  amusement,  nor  weariness. 
He  seemed,  perhaps,  absent-minded ;  but  his 
thoughts  were  not  elsewhere,  he  was  absolutely 
engrossed  by  the  situation  ;  he  was  all  attention,  — 
he  lost  nothing.  He  watched  Mrs.  Daltou,  Heriot, 
and  Miss  Haxtoun.  Fanny  was  fascinated  with 
herself  at  present,  and  he  discovered  nothing 
in  her  save  the  tricks  and  niceties  of  her  art. 


31 G  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Heriot  was  excited,  and  apparently  in  the  seventh 
heaven  of  enjoyment ;  but  Cecil  drooped  visibly. 
Medhurst  began  feverishly  to  wish  that  he  was  away. 
If  there  was  any  power,  any  pride,  any  manhood 
left  in  him,  he  longed  to  regather  it.  Clearly  it 
was  circumstance  or  fate,  or  it  was  the  besotted 
blindness  of  others,  which  had  made  him  love  this 
girl ;  of  his  own  accord  he  would  never  have  dared 
think  of  her.  But,  in  the  first  place,  Rodney  Heriot 
had  set  him  on  ;  then  Mrs.  Haxtoun's  doubts,  fears, 
prohibitions ;  Mr.  Haxtoun's  careful  diplomacy ; 
and,  finally,  Fanny  Dalton's  too  clear  picturing  of 
what  had  hovered  in  the  furthest  confines  of  his 
imagination  —  a  far-off  fancy  —  had  brought  Cecil 
close  before  his  eyes  and  heart ;  had  driven  him  to 
watch  her,  to  think  of  her,  to  dream  about  her. 
Ah,  what  dreams  !  Did  he  hope  she  loved  him  ? 
He  said  to  himself  he  would  rather  he  were  dead 
than  hear  her  say  she  loved  him.  But  then  a  man 
may  say  very  strong  things,  which  have  no  echo  in 
the  heart  at  all. 

"  To-morrow,"  Medhurst  thought  within  himself, 
"  to-morrow  the  play  will  be  over.  Then  I  will 
make  up  my  mind  what  to  do." 

The  curtain  went  up  at  nine  o'clock  that  night, 
and  the  play  began.  The  entire  neighborhood  of 
Philadelphia  was  represented  by  the  audience,  and 
the  orchestra  and  supper  were  from  New  York. 
But,  in  spite  of  this  brilliance,  in  spite  of  the  cos- 
tumes, the  first  scene  dragged  a  little,  and  Arthur 
Snow  and  Lilly  Winchester  came  off  presently 
quite  out  of  humor.  Other  people  had  applause,  — 
not  they ;  let  them  do  what  they  would  they  were 


A   SOIREE  DRAMATIQUE.  317 

met  with  fault-finding,  peremptory  accents,  and 
suggestions  for  improvement.  There  were  the  others 
all  radiant  in  the  sunlight,  with  halos  of  superiority 
round  their  faces,  —  they,  alas  !  stood  in  the  shadow, 
rayless.  Lilly,  however,  a  little  further  on,  was  to 
taste  the  sweets  of  popularity :  by  a  little  toss  of 
the  head,  a  little  raowe,  a  little  coquetry,  which  by 
no  means  belonged  to  her  part,  but  showed  the 
irresistible  feminine  instinct,  she  brought  down  the 
house.  After  this  success  Arthur  sulked  alone  ; 
he  was  jealous  of  Lilly,  disgusted  with  all  the  world. 
It  was  almost  a  comfort  to  him  that  he  had  an  abso- 
lute grievance  against  Medhurst,  for  the  demon  of 
quarrel  had  taken  possession  of  him,  and  he  was 
determined  to  vent  it. 

.  Meanwhile  Fanny  Dalton  was  having  a  great 
success ;  her  imperious,  brilliant  personality  made 
itself  felt ;  she  swayed  the  other  actors,  stirred 
their  powers,  and  carried  them  along  with  her.  Cecil 
woke  up  ;  she  was  naive,  charming  ;  she  was  irresisti- 
ble. When  Fanny  dazzled  and  surprised,  she  fasci- 
nated ;  when  Fanny  sparkled,  she  glowed.  She 
showed  lively  sensations,  original  impressions,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  a  girlish  dignity  and  modesty 
which  won  the  heart.  Everybody  declared  that 
Fanny  Dalton  was  the  most  finished  actress,  but 
Cecil  was  more  interesting.  Cecil  was  called  out 
again  and  again,  and  while  she  was  bowing  and 
carrying  off  her  loads  of  bouquets,  somebody  remem- 
bered to  cry,  "  Mrs.  Chalcote  !  Mrs.  Chalcote  !  " 

Rodney  went  up  to  Cecil,  behind  the  scenes,  with 
a  little  grimace.  "You  are  carrying  off  all  the 
honors,"  said  he.  "Madame  will  be  cross." 


318  -4  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"It  is  very  absurd,"  Cecil  returned,  "for  them 
to  applaud  me.  She  acts  a  thousand  —  a  million 
times  better  than  I  ever  could." 

"  Of  course  she  does." 

"  But  my  part  is  perhaps  more  pleasing." 

"  She  did  not  think  so.  Yours  has  more  bonte, 
and,  besides,  a  little  dash  of  humor." 

"  Yes,  that  is  it,"  said  Cecil. 

"  You  don't  care  for  your  triumphs." 

Cecil  looked  at  him,  and  smiled  a  little  wistfully. 
He  had  not  spoken  to  her  all  day  of  what  had 
happened  yesterday,  but  his  eyes  reminded  her  of 
it  now.  How  was  she  to  tell  him  that  some  burning 
pain  in  her  heart  goaded  her  on,  and  how  a  convic- 
tion of  her  impotence  and  hopelessness,  of  the  use- 
lessness  of  trying  to  control  her  destiny,  made  her 
wreak  her  force  on  any  opportunity  within  her 
power  ? 

Rodney  had  no  time  to  say  more.  He  was  called 
on  again,  and  presently  the  whole  circle  of  actors 
went  on  the  stage,  and  the  curtain  went  down  amidst 
loud  plaudits,  and  the  play  was  over.  Mr.  Stein 
was  on  his  feet  at  once,  bowing,  complimenting, 
overflowing  with  flattery.  Never  had  he  had  such  a 
company  before !  Nothing  on  the  contemporary 
stage  could  equal  it.  Mrs.  Dalton  was  the  link 
which  united  the  fervid  past  with  the  aesthetic  and 
pictorial  present ;  she  was  the  comedienne  of  whom 
he  had  dreamed.  Cecil's  performance  was  praised ; 
but  the  experienced  manager  saw  behind  the  illusion 
of  it :  it  was  the  result  of  excitement,  the  sensitive- 
ness of  strained  nerves  ;  it  was  very  charming,  still  it 
was  not  art ;  but  Mrs.  Daltou  he  glorified.  A  group 


A   SOIREE  DBAMATIQUE.  319 

gathered  round  her.  She  was  on  the  pinnacle  at 
once  to  which  she  had  aspired  ;  all  the  world  —  that 
is,  all  the  world  she  could  see  at  that  moment —  was 
at  her  feet. 

Arthur  Snow  went  up  to  pay  her  a  compliment ; 
but  Mrs.  Dalton  did  not  like  Arthur  Snow,  and  es- 
pecially now,  when  she  had  a  vivid  recollection  that 
he  had  spoiled  one  of  her  best  points.  He  offered 
her  his  pretty  speech  twice  over,  but  she  would  not 
hear.  He  had  to  withdraw,  and,  stepping  back 
without  turning,  he  came  in  contact  with  Medhurst, 
who  was  crossing  the  stage. 

" — you,"  cried  Arthur,  "what  are  you  doing, 
—  running  against  me  like  that  ?  I'll  "  — 

Medhurst  looked  at  Arthur  a  moment,  then  seized 
him  by  the  arm  and.  walked  him  off  the  stage, 
through  the  scenes,  across  the  little  rear  veranda, 
to  the  terrace,  under  the  kindling  stars. 

"Now,  look  here,  Mr.  Arthur  Snow,"  said  he. 
"  You  have  reached  the  limit.  I  have  submitted  to 
your  impertinence  through  the  play,  because  it  was 
the  ladies'  wish  to  carry  it  out  pleasantly ;  but  the 
play  is  over.  Just  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  your 
insolence,  your  impudence,  and  your  quarrelsome- 
ness !  " 

Arthur  was  boiling  over.  Medhurst  still  held 
him  in  a  vice ;  he  had  a  grip  like  iron,  and  muscle 
was  not  Arthur's  strong  point;  he  could  neither 
wriggle  nor  throw  it  off. 

"  Talk  to  me  of  impudence  and  insolence  !  "  said 
he  ;  "  you  —  a  —  a  —  intrusive,  presumptuous,  med- 
dling upstart ! " 

Medhurst  was  fairly  astonished. 


320  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"Have  you  a  grudge  against  me?"  said  he. 
"Have  I  done  you  wrong  in  any  way?" 

Medhurst  had  not  lost  his  temper ;  he  spoke  in- 
cisively and  irritably,  but  in  a  low  voice.  Arthur,  on 
the  other  hand,  screamed  so  loud  that,  but  for 
the  band  playing  inside,  the  whole  house  would  have 
rung  with  his  words.  He  presently  burst  into 
another  tirade. 

"Come,  now,"  said  Medhurst,  "I should  like  to 
understand  this.  What  have  you  got  against  me? 
I'll  not  let  you  go  until  I  shake  it  out  of  you." 

"You  know  well  enough, —  you,  let  me  go!" 
roared  Arthur. 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is,  first." 

"  You  knocked  me  down,"  declared  Arthur,  ap- 
parently quite  forgetting  how  he  had  come  to  incur 
the  attack. 

' '  Knocked  you  down ! — when  ?  "  Medhurst' s  mind 
ran  hastily  through  his  remembrance  of  the  past 
few  weeks. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  exclaimed,  "  that  it 
was  you  I  found,  lurking  like  a  thief,  in  the  grap- 
ery?" 

"  I  had  as  much  right  to  be  there  as  you  had.  A 
better  right !  I  wasn't  stealing  interviews  with 
young  ladies.  I  wasn't "  — 

Medhurst  uttered  an  exclamation  of  disgust.  He 
let  go  his  hold  of  the  other's  arm,  giving  almost  a 
push  at  the  same  time,  which  made  Arthur  stagger. 

"  You  are  beneath  contempt.  Go ! "  said  he. 
"  Hereafter  I'll  try  to-  keep  out  of  your  way  as  I 
would  out  of  a  mad  dog's." 

Arthur  had   by  no  means  had  out  his  say,  but 


A   SOllifiE  DRAMATIQUE.  321 

Medhurst  seemed  to  him  at  the  moment  rather  a 
dangerous  character.  There  was  something  por- 
tentous in  his  look,  and  by  this  time  Arthur  knew 
the  strength  of  his  grip.  He  slunk  off,  glad 
that  the  interview  had  had  neither  listeners  nor 
spectators. 

Medhurst  sank  down  on  the  stone  step  of  the 
terrace.  He  was  sick  of  it  all ;  he  was  sick  of  his 
life.  He  looked  up  at  the  stars ;  he  could  almost 
have  uttered  a  cry  to  them  in  his  despair.  He 
must  get  away  from  this,  he  said  to  himself ;  he 
would  speak  to  Mr.  Haxtoun  the  next  morning,  and 
put  an  end  to  the  engagement  at  once.  Mr.  Hill  had 
written,  offering  him  a  very  good  place  on  the  paper, 
in  place  of  Morton,  who  had  been  appointed  consul 
at  Algiers.  He  would  take  it  and  go.  This  life  was 
not  bearable.  He  would  see  Mr.  Haxtoun  to-night 
instead  of  to-morrow.  By  going  home  at  once  he 
might  very  likely  contrive  an  interview  with  the  old 
gentleman  before  he  went  to  bed.  He  started  up 
on  the  instant.  No  sooner  was  he  on  his  feet  than 
he  became  aware  that  he  was  not  alone.  Within 
three  feet  of  him,  just  behind  one  of  the  tall  roses, 
was  Cecil  Haxtoun.  Though  there  was  no  moon, 
yet  it  was  not  dark.  He  saw  her  distinctly.  She 
had  on  the  gown  she  had  worn  in  the  last  act,  pale 
blue,  trimmed  with  swan's-down.  In  this  light  it 
all  looked  alike,  white  as  snow. 

"  You  here  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  I  followed  you.  I  was  afraid  you  and 
Arthur  "  - 

"  Might  quarrel?  Forgive  me  for  making  a 
scene ;  but  he  had  taken  pains  to  insult  me." 


322  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  I  know  it ;  I  have  seen  it.  It  is  dreadful.  I 
will  speak  to  papa  about  it." 

"  Oh,  no  matter ;  no  matter !  I  shall  see  him  no 
mor'e.  Nothing  troubles  me  less  than  his  exist- 
ence." 

"Something  does  trouble  you." 

"  Yes,  —  one  thought." 

It  was  strange  that  she  should  be  there,  so  near, 
and  at  the  moment  when  he  was  telling  himself  that 
he  must  put  miles  of  earth  between  him  and  her. 
Everything  separated  them,  —  honor,  duty,  every 
bristling  obstacle  fate  can  impose  ;  and  yet  it  was  not 
enough.  He  must  superimpose  all  the  dead  weight 
of  separation,  absence,  absolutely  diverging  des- 
tinies. 

"  I  wish,"  she  said  softly,  —  "I  wish  "  — 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?  " 

He  had  drawn  nearer  to  her.  He  could  see  her 
lovely,  pale  face,  her  half -frightened  eyes  on  the 
point  of  tears. 

He  could  not  help  speaking. 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  have  one  wish  move 
you  night  and  day,  day  and  night,  like  a  hunger, 
like  a  thirst,  like"  — 

He  broke  off.     He  gazed  at  her  steadily. 

"  I  am  going  away,"  he  added,  brusquely.  ' '  Shall 
you  care?" 

"Going  away, — going  away  from  us?"  she 
repeated. 

"Yes.  Shall  you  care?  Shall  you  remember 
me  after  a  day,  after  a  week,  after  a  month?" 

She  uttered  a  little  cry ;  she  flung  out  both  her 
bands. 


A   SOIREE  DRAMATIQUE.  323 

"If  I  could  know  —  if  I  could  know,"  he  muttered, 
"  if  you  cared  a  little  for  me,  I  might"  — 

She  was  trembling  all  over. 

Ten  moments  later  neither  of  them  could  have  told 
exactly  how  it  had  happened.  Perhaps  he  seized 
her  fluttering,  outstretched  hands,  and  then  she  fell 
upon  his  breast.  At  least,  she  was  there,  and  he 
held  her  in  a  passionate,  silent  embrace.  Neither 
needed  any  words.  He  felt  firm  and  proud.  She 
was  his  own  ;  no  one  should  take  her  from  him. 

"  Look  up  at  me  a  moment,"  he  said,  in  her  ear. 

She  looked  up. 

"You  must  go  in  now.  You  are  an  important 
guest.  You  will  be  missed." 

She  shivered. 

"  Don't  send  me  away." 

He  gave  a  little,  proud  laugh. 

"Listen  to  me,"  said  he.  "You  must  go  in. 
Meet  me  to-morrow  morning,  at  seven  o'clock,  down 
b  the  old  house." 


"  Say  to  me  once,  *  Frank,  I  love  you.'  " 

She  repeated  it  after  him,  eloquently  enough  to 

his  ear.     He  softly  drew  her  to  himself  again  and 

kissed  her  lips. 

'  '  Go  in  now,  my  own,"  said  he.     He  said  it  with 

some  imperiousness  ;   and  she  obeyed  him  without 

another  word. 


324  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

TOO    CLEVER    BY   HALF. 

went  swiftly  towards  the  lighted  house, 
conscious  of  a  strength  and  happiness  which 
would  carry  her  safely  through  any  ordeal.  She 
did  not  know  yet  what  she  had  done.  She  had  not 
stopped  to  ask  herself  where  she  stood.  For  a  time 
she  had  been  powerless,  —  she  had  been  in  the 
meshes  of  her  mother's  net ;  she  could  not  free  her- 
self, nor  could  she  cry  out  that  she  longed  to  free 
herself.  She  had  felt  stubborn,  rebellious,  but  all 
the  time  had  helped  to  tie  herself  hand  and  foot  in 
knots  which  she  longed  to  undo.  Now  she  told 
herself  that  she  was  free,  —  free  as  air  except  as  she 
was  bound  to  Medhurst.  What  had  become  of  her 
tacit  engagement  to  Rodnej7  Ileriot  she  did  not 
ask.  It  was  all  a  dream.  Here  was  the  reality. 
There  was  nothing  delusive,  phantom-like,  unsub- 
stantial, about  her  love  for  Medhurst.  It  brought 
every  vague,  shadowy  feeling  into  the  focus  of  a 
strong  light.  All  her  thoughts  were  with  him,  all 
her  wishes  were  with  him.  Why  had  she  been 
doubtful?  How  could  she  have  been  afraid?  It 
had  strangely  simplified  matters  to  acknowledge  her 
love  for  him.  The  world,  which  had  for  a  few  days 
seemed  great,  and  wide,  and  strange  to  her,  had 


TOO   CLEVER  BY  HALF.  325 

suddenly  narrowed  down  ;  she  and  Medhurst  stood 
together  in  a  world  of  their  own. 

These  thoughts  swam  through  her  mind  as  she 
entered  the  house,  but  no  sooner  was  she  in  the  brill- 
iant halls  again,  with  vistas  on  either  hand  of  the  gayly 
dressed  moving  throngs,  than  the  singleness  of  her 
impressions  vanished.  She  came  upon  her  father 
almost  directly. 

"Your  mamma  is  looking  for  you,"  said  Mr. 
Haxtouu,  with  an  air  of  resigned  melancholy. 
"  Your  mamma  is  so  energetic,  of  late.  Much  as  I 
appreciate  the  blessing  of  children,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  a  man  destitute  of  offspring  has  a  better 
chance  of  a  quiet  life." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  give  you  very  much  trouble, 
papa,"  observed  Cecil,  taking  his  arm. 

"  I  have  had  perpetual  alarms  about  you,  of  late, 
my  dear.  And  that  night  }*ou  were  on  the  river 
with  Mr.  Medhurst,  there  "  — 

Mr.  Haxtouu  might  have  gone  on  to  enumerate 
the  various  occasions  when  his  wife's  superabun- 
dant anxiety  had  goaded  him,  spoiling  his  morning's 
work  and  his  evening's  pastime  ;  but  Rodney  Heriot, 
passing  through  the  hall,  espied  Cecil,  and  sprang 
towards  her.  Ever  since  the  curtain  went  down 
upon  the  stage  he  had  been,  until  this  moment,  en- 
grossed by  the  claims  of  his  guests  ;  but  now  he  was 
free  to  devote  the  rest  of  his  time  to  Cecil. 

"  Do  you  want  to  dance?  "  he  asked  her. 

But  no,  she  did  not  want  to  dance,  she  told  him. 

"  It  is  too  warm  to  dance,"  said  Mr.  Haxtoun ; 
"  it  would  be  very  unsafe  to  take  exercise  with  all  the 
doors  and  windows  open  as  they  are  here.  That  is 


326  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

the  reason  I  do  not  sit  down,  but  constant! y  walk 
about,  —  there  are  draughts  ever3rwhere  "  — 

"  Except  in  the  library,  Mr.  Haxtoun,"  said  Rod- 
ney. "  Go  into  the  library,  and  shut  all  the  win- 
dows. There  are  comfortable  chairs  there  too  "  — 

"  And  will  you  take  care  of  Cecil?  "  asked  the  old 
gentleman,  who  was  quite  bewildered  and  worn  out, 
and  to  whom  this  beacon  beckoned  enticingly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Rodne.y,  "  I  will  take  care  of  Cecil." 

He  put  her  hand  under  his  arm  and  looked  down 
at  her.  Mr.  Haxtoun  had  walked  away.  "  I  will 
take  care  of  Cecil,"  he  said  again. 

Cecil  looked  at  him  once,  then  blushed  vividly 
and  turned  away. 

"  Heavens  !  "  he  exclaimed,  almost  as  if  to  him- 
self alone.  "  How  beautiful  you  are  !  " 

She  tried  to  withdraw  her  hand  from  his  arm,  but 
he  laughed,  and  would  not  let  it  go. 

"  Are  .you  angry  with  me?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  I  feel  inclined  to  go  on  making  you  angry,"  said 
Rodney,  in  his  light  manner.  "  Here,  ever  since 
yesterday,  I  have  felt  like  going  mad  with  joy  ;  but 
I  have  been  obliged  to  walk  steadily,  to  speak  delib- 
erately, to  give  directions,  to  listen  to  people,  and, 
finally,  to  go  through  this  stupid  play.  Do  you 
want  to  know  what  I  should  like  to  do  at  this  mo- 
ment?" 

Without  answering  she  turned  and  looked  at  him 
with  her  brilliant  eyes.  What  she  intended  to  ex- 
press was  something  menacing  and  portentous,  but 
her  glowing  face  spoke  to  him  far  otherwise. 


TOO   CLEVER  BY  HALF.  327 

"  Close  your  eyes,"  said  he  ;  "they  rob  me  of  my 
senses." 

She  blushed  still  more  furiously,  and  bent  her 
head  on  her  breast. 

Rodney  began  to  feel  conscience-stricken.  He 
hated  himself  for  talking  to  her  as  if  he  held  her 
beauty  a  lure  and  her  innocence  something  to  regard 
carelessly.  He  wished  that  he  had  not  defrauded 
himself  of  the  rights  and  worth  of  his  temperament 
by  his  habit  of  accepting  loose,  light,  and  reckless 
views  of  things.  Nothing  could  be  sweeter  and 
more  sacred  than  his  present  impressions  of  Cecil, 
but  he  seemed  unable  to  say  anything  which  did  not 
offend  and  shock  her.  But  why  should  she  not 
know,  he  asked  himself,  all  that  was  in  his  mind? 
Why  did  she  not  understand  him  and  believe  in  him  ? 
Was  it  because  they  were  divided  by  so  many  j'ears? 

"  Do  not  be  afraid  of  me,"  said  he.  "You  can 
hardty  expect  that  I  shall  not  be  happy.  I  should 
be  a  dull  fellow  if  I  were  not  inexpressibly  happy. 
I  have  always  wanted  happiness  for  myself,  but, 
hitherto,  I  have  not  been  very  successful  in  achiev- 
ing it.  Let  me  try  as  I  would  for  it,  it  failed  me  :  I 
had  disappointment,  pain,  sorrow,  instead.  Finally, 
I  tried  to  teach  myself  that  happiness  did  not  exist 
for  me ;  that  the  desire  for  happiness  is  not  im- 
planted in  our  minds  because  it  is  to  have  fruition  ; 
but,  instead ,  that  it  may  inspire  fresh  ideals  and  re- 
stimulate  our  flagging  energies.  I  began  to  believe 
that  self-renunciation,  self-abnegation,  was  the  only 
true  source  of  peace.  If  that  were  so" —  He 
looked  at  her,  and  almost  in  spite  of  himself  tender, 
foolish  words  came  from  his  lips. 


328  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Cecil  had  grown  pale. 

'  Is  not  this  a  little  out  of  place?"  she  asked,  in 
a  proud,  still  manner.  "  You  would  hardly  care  to 
be  listened  to,  or  observed." 

"  I  will  be  on  my  good  behavior.  Let  us  be  talk- 
ing about  something.  There  must  be  subjects  in  the 
world  to  talk  about.  There  are  times  when  life 
does  not  seem  long  enough  to  discuss  the  matters 
that  come  up.  The  universe  seems  such  an  extraor- 
dinary development.  But  at  present  it  is  of  more 
interest  to  me  that  you  have  little  white  hands,  that 
those  little  white  hands  have  little  tapering  fingers, 
and  that  on  one  of  those  little  tapering  fingers  I 
must "  — 

"  I  thought,"  said  Cecil,  with  a  swift  gesture  of 
disdain,  "  you  were  ready  to  talk  about  something 
sensible." 

"  Now,  I  thought  that  so  sensible.  But  let  us 
discuss  gems.  What  kind  of  gems  do  you  prefer  ? " 

"  I  don't  like  any  gems,"  said  Cecil. 

"  Don't  you?  I  think  diamonds  or  pearls  in  your 
hair  would  be  "  — 

"  I  dislike  diamonds  and  pearls,"  persisted  Cecil. 
"  Nothing  would  induce  me  to  wear  them." 

Rodney  laughed.  He  liked  the  pretty,  mutinous 
air.  They  had  been  walking  slowly  along  the  hall, 
and  by  this  time  had  reached  the  picture-galler}', 
which,  divested  of  its  benches  the  moment  the  play 
was  over,  was  now  the  ball-room.  Enough  dancing 
was  going  on  to  make  it  a  pretty  pageant,  but  the 
scene  was  not  very  gay.  Alec  Ilaxtoun  was  one  of 
the  few  men  who  danced,  and  even  he  was  a  little 
aggrieved  at  being  obliged  to  be  on  duty  on  so  hot 


TOO   CLEVER  BY  HALF.  329 

a  night.  He  Lad  been  waltzing  with  Mrs.  Dalton 
as  a  reward  for  keeping  up  the  entertainment ;  but 
now  she  had  sat  down  to  talk  with  the  manager,  Mr. 
Stein,  and  Alec  was  looking  about  him  disconso- 
lately, wondering  if  he  had  not  made  himself  perspire 
sufficiently,  when  he  caught  sight  of  his  sister. 

"Going  to  dance,  Cis?"  he  said,  coming  up  to 
her. 

"Oh,  yes  ;  if  you  ask  me,"  replied  Cecil. 

"  I  will  ask  you,"  said  Alec.  "  Mrs.  Este1  begged 
me  to  keep  up  the  dancing,  and  I  know  no  other 
way  than  to  go  on  whirling  perpetually.  Nobody 
dances  nowadays,  —  none  but  girls,  that  is.  Talk 
about  the  relative  strength  of  the  sexes ;  a  woman 
can  waltz  as  if  she  were  strung  on  wire,  while  a 
man  becomes  a  mass  of  quivering  jelly.  I'm  a  mere 
pulp ;  but  I  will  give  you  one  waltz,  Cissy.  You 
don't  dance,  Heriot?" 

"  No,  I  don't  dance.  Not  but  that  I  might,  in 
spite  of  my  age.  The  only  objection  is,  that  I  should 
not  like  to  dance  set  figures.  If  I  could  execute  a 
pas  seul  now,  just  to  express  my  feelings !  " 

"Do,"  said  Cecil.  "Every  one  would  be  de- 
lighted to  see  something  original  and  spontaneous 
in  the  way  of  a  dance." 

"I  don't  know,"  pursued  Alec,  still  aggrieved, 
"what  the  gradual  evolution  of  manners  and  cus- 
toms will  be  ;  but,  looking  at  present  indications,  it 
really  seems  to  me  that  there  will  soon  be  no 
dancing  men.  Everybody  is  so  deadly  serious  nowa- 
days ;  there  is  no  laisscz-aller  about  us  young  fel- 
lows ;  our  boots  are  too  tight,  our  clothes  fit  too 
well,  our  hair  is  too  smooth." 


330  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Exactly,"  said  Rodne}-.  "  Fifty  years  from 
now  I  fancy  the  social  usage  will  be  somewhat  ori- 
ental ;  the  men  will  sit  on  crimson  velvet  divans, 
smoking  languidly,  while  the  3'oung  girls  dance  for 
their  own  amusement  and  masculine  edification." 

Alec  and  Cecil  were  already  moving  away,  and 
Rodney  stood  looking  after  the  brother  and  sister, 
who  danced  with  the  perfection  of  constant  habit. 
The  childlike  freshness  of  the  young  girl,  her  pliant 
grace,  made  her  appear-  to  be  inspired  by  the  music 
of  the  waltz  ;  but,  in  fact,  her  heart  was  very  heavy. 

"I  want  to  go  home,"  she  said  to  her  brother. 
"  Waltz  on  towards  the  staircase,  and  then  find 
mamma." 

"  What  is  the  matter?    Are  you  tired?" 

"  No." 

"  Supper  is  not  ready  yet." 

"  I  had  forgotten  supper,"  said  Cecil,  who  felt 
feverishly  restless  and  impatient  to  get  away. 
"Then  I  suppose  it  is  of  no  use  for  me  to 
think  of  getting  mamma  to  consent." 

Rodney  walked  about  as  impatient  as  Cecil.  The 
scanty  chance  he  had  to  utter  what  was  in  his  heart 
to  the  young  girl  mocked,  rather  than  assuaged,  the 
passion  of  his  soul.  The  joyous  music  filled  him 
with  a  sort  of  sadness.  A  single  strain  of  it  seemed 
to  pursue  him,  haunting  him  when  he  was  at  a  dis- 
tance from  the  band,  and  when  nearer  coining  with 
a  sudden  burst  from  the  flute  and  violins.  He  was 
half-amused  and  half-proud  to  realize  how  deeply 
he  was  in  love,  he  who  had  so  long  been  an  ama- 
teur, a  connoisseur,  that  he  had  believed  himself 
incapable  of  any  simple,  unmixed  emotion.  He  had 


TOO   CLEVER  BY  HALF.  331 

not  recognized  his  feeling  at  first.  He  had  felt  the 
thrall  of  it,  but  without  any  belief  that  his  state  of 
mind  was  to  become  fixed  and  permanent.  What  did 
Cecil's  mysterious  charm  come  from?  Why  had 
she  so  completely  bewitched  him?  Perhaps  it  was 
because  he  was  no  longer  young,  that  half- forgotten 
loves,  ambitions,  aspirations,  had  haunted  him,  in- 
spiring dissatisfaction  and  remorse,  and  that  she 
restored  them. 

As  he  moved  restlessly  about  Fanny  Dalton  beck- 
oned to  him.  Mr.  Stein  had  been  complimenting 
her  on  the  success  of  the  play.  Now  that  it  was 
over,  the  manager,  who  had  found  every  fault 
while  it  was  in  progress,  could  not  sufficiently 
praise  the  nicety  and  perfection  of  the  acting,  the 
promising  condition  of  the  whole  troupe ;  he  add- 
ing, of  course,  the  warmest  encomiums  for  Fanny 
herself,  who  he  declared  had  only  to  come  before 
the  great  public  to  receive  universal  recognition. 
She  had,  he  said,  by  the  mere  talent  for  taking 
pains  with  her  work,  overcome  all  the  hardest 
obstacles  in  her  way  ;  she  had  the  wit  -to  see  what 
were  the  essential  points,  and  these  she  had  seized : 
a  brilliant  future  was  before  her. 

Fanny,  however,  was  a  little  petulant  and  irri- 
tated. What  had  her  triumph  to-night  been  after 
all  ?  In  spite  of  her  painstaking  efforts  to  achieve 
a  legitimate  success,  Cecil,  without  artistic  instinct 
or  knowledge,  had  equalled,  if  not  surpassed,  her. 

The  girl's  beaut}',  the  general  admiration  she 
elicited  from  her  well-known  position,  the  peculiar 
suitability  of  the  role  she  had  assumed,  were  all  in 
her  favor.  The  eclat  had  been  an  accident.  But 


332  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Fanny  realized  that  every  one  who  sets  himself  a 
task  is  at  the  mercy  of  unforeseen  malign  forces  in 
some  shape,  but,  all  the  same,  actual  lions  in  the 
path  to  be  contended  against  and  conquered.  Mrs. 
Dalton  wanted  to  be  sure  of  easy  successes ;  she 
wanted  them,  too,  to  be  successes  which  belonged 
only  to  first-class  artists.  And  when  Mr.  Stein 
compared  her  to  certain  actresses  already  on  the 
stage  there  was  some  disillusionment^ 

"What  do  you  think  Mr.  Stein  tells  me?"  she 
asked  Rodney  Heriot,  after  beckoning  him  to 
approach. 

"  That  you  are  a  very  brilliant  actress." 

"That  goes  without  saying,"  put  in  Mr.  Stein. 
"  What  I  say  is.  that  she  is  sure  of  a  good  engage- 
ment if  she  will  01113'  go  upon  the  stage." 

"But  then,"  exclaimed  Fanny,  "Mr.  Stein's 
ideas  and  mine  are  so  different  concerning  an 
engagement.  So  long  as  a  castle  is  in  the  air  it 
assumes  quite  palatial  proportions,  but  once  set  it 
down  on  terra  firma,  and  look  at  it  soberly,  and  its 
peaks  and  pinnacles  appear  for  what  they  are  worth. 
He  tells  me  where  I  can  act,  and  what  my  salary 
will  be  by  the  week,  and  all  the  magnificence  goes 
out  of  my  scheme.  I  thought  I  might  make  a  great 
deal  of  mone}r." 

"  And  so  you  can,  and  so  you  shall,"  insisted  Mr. 
Stein.  "  You  must  not,  of  course,  expect  the  great 
gains  of  a  queen  of  the  operatic  stage ;  but  as  a 
comedy  actress  "  — 

Mr.  Stein  went  on  eloquently,  but  to  Fanny  the 
brilliancy  of  the  career  was  tarnished,  its  successes 


TOO   CLEVER  BY  HALF.  333 

questionable,  its  promises  futile.     The  play  had  dis- 
appointed her. 

"  Miss  Haxtoun  carried  off  all  the  honors,"  said 
she. 

"Miss  Haxtoun,"  almost  shrieked  Mr.  Stein, — 
"  she  cannot  act.  She  has  the  archness,  the 
vivacity,  the  piquancy,  of  a  kitten,  whose  gambols 
are  irresistible  when  it  is  in  the  mood,  but 
who  "  — 

"  Is  not  equal  to  a  trained  dog,  for  instance,"  said 
Rodney.  "Oh,  you  will  be  in  a  better  mood  to- 
morrow, Fanny.  You  feel  the  reaction  from  the 
champagne  of  the  play.  That  is  the  curse  of  artists, 
actors,  and  authors,  — their  spirits  come  and  go  like 
the  tide." 

But  the  most  philosophical  of  reflections  could  not 
banish  the  miserable,  almost  inexplicable,  discontent 
that  darkened  Fanny's  hour,  which  ought  to  have 
been  one  of  complete  triumph.  Success  is  a  deli- 
cate fruit,  and  loses  its  flavor  if  it  falls  and  is 
scrambled  for. 

"Ask  me  to  dance,"  she  whispered  to  Rodney 
Heriot. 

He  complied,  and  she  rose,  took  his  arm,  and 
walked  away. 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  think  I  am  going  to  dance," 
he  remarked,  when  they  were  out  of  hearing  of  the 
fussy,  zealous  little  Mr.  Stein,  whose  coveted  praise 
had  suddenly  lost  all  its  worth.  Had  she  failed  she 
would  have  felt  nothing  of  all  this  disgust ;  she  felt 
it  by  virtue  of  a  sense  only  acquired  by  what  seems 
to  an  imaginative  person  a  half-success. 

"  No,  I  do  not  want  to  dance,"  declared  Fanny. 


334  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  I  no  longer  feel  young.  I  no  longer  care  about 
the  satisfactions  of  youth.  I  want,  instead,  the 
consolations  of  middle  life." 

"That  is  what  I  am  after  as  well  as  you,"  said 
Rodney. 

"Does  Miss  Haxtoun  belong  to  that  category?" 
inquired  Fannj'. 

Rodney  said  nothing,  and  she  went  on. 

"  I  begin  to  feel  that  there  is  a  fatality  about  that 
girl.  There  are  people  by  whom  it  is  foredoomed 
that  we  shall  suffer.  She  looks  innocent ;  like  a 
kitten,  as  Mr.  Stein  says.  But  she  meets  me  at 
every  turn  tormenting  and  thwarting  me.  It  is  not 
a  fair  contest ;  she  has  superior  weapons  to  mine, 
and  I  grow  disheartened  and  throw  down  my  arms. 
I  had  taught  myself  to  bear  othSr  things  with  com- 
placency ;  but  when  she  entered  my  own  field,  and 
surpassed  me  on  the  stage,  that  was  too  much 
humiliation." 

Rodney  listened,  half-amused.  He  knew  that 
Fanny  was  really  annoyed,  and  that  she  bore  Cecil 
a  grudge,  and  longed  to  revenge  herself.  He  felt  a 
little  curious  to  know  what  she  was  about  to  say, 
how  she  would  substantiate  her  words.  She  rarely 
talked  at  random  ;  she  habitually  sought  to  create 
an  effect,  and  there  was  no  doubt  but  that  she 
wanted  to  move  him  now.  He  experienced  a  desire 
to  laugh,  but,  instead,  turned  to  her  with  an  exagger- 
ated seriousness  and  repeated  :  — 

"  Too  much  humiliation  !     Don't  say  that." 

Fanny  laughed  slightly. 

"  What  a  tragical  tone !  I  shall  survive  it.  I 
am  used  to  failures.  I  am  a  failure  all  through. 


TOO   CLEVER  BY  HALF.  335 

But  she  might  have  left  me  my  old  love.  I  always 
used  to  think  I  could  reckon  on  Frank  Med- 
hurst." 

"Oh,  you  are  thinking  about  Medhurst?"  asked 
Rodney,  with  some  eagerness.  "  By-the-by,  I  saw 
him  in  a  fine  fury,  the  other  day.  He  was  quite 
out  of  humor  with  his  life,  —  declared  he  was  going 
away." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  why?" 

' '  No ;  but  the  position  has  always  fretted  him  ; 
and,  indeed,  what  man  of  any  real  mental  energy 
could  go  on  with  old  Haxtoun?" 

"He  is  in  love  with  Mr.  Haxtoun's  daughter," 
said  Fanny,  looking  her  companion  in  the  face. 

"  I  dare  say  he  admires  her,"  exclaimed  Rodney. 
"Don't  make  me  think  you  are  morbidly  jealous 
where  she  is  concerned." 

"  I  know  everything  about  it,"  said  Fanny.  "  Do 
you  want  me  to  tell  you  what  I  know?" 

She  spoke  with  the  utmost  sweetness,  yet  there 
was  something  pointed,  and  even  menacing,  in 
her  tone.  The  two  were  standing  near  a  window  in 
the  main  parlor.  The  supper- room  was  open,  and 
people  were  going  and  coming,  and  servants  were 
passing  about  with  trays  of  ices  and  champagne 
•ups. 

"  I  do  not  believe  you  know  anything,"  said 
Rodney.  "  And,  if  you  did,  what  right  have  you  to 
tell  it?  If  it  is  a  secret  confided  to  you,  certainly 
you  should  be  silent ;  and  if  yon  have  surprised  it, 
—  of  course  then  it  must  be  forever  buried  in  your 
own  mind.  If  Medhurst  admires  Miss  Haxtoun  he 
has  a  right  to  admire  her.  That  he  was  actually  in 


336  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

love  with  her  would  be  his  misfortune.  He  is  an 
honorable  fellow,  and  would  not  allow  himself  to  be 
led  captive  by  any  such  feeling." 

Rodney's  manner  was  cold,  and  almost  brusque. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  said  Fanny.  "Remember 
how  much  the  matter  means  to  me.  I  had  no  doubt, 
at  first,  that  Frank  was  faithful  to  me  ;  and  when 
I  found  him  half-indifferent  I  believed  that  he  was 
unforgiving.  I  had  done  him  a  great  wrong  when 
he  was  a  naive,  passionate,  clever  boy ;  and  I  could 
hardly  blame  him  if  he  refused  to  accept  me  on  the 
old  terms.  I  tried  to  show  him  my  remorse  ;  but  I 
presently  made  the  discovery  that  he  was  well  over 
even  his  anger  with  me.  He  had  dismissed  his 
youthf ul  feeling,  and  was  wholly  engrossed  by  some- 
thing newer,  fresher,  and,  besides,  more  promising." 

"I  confess,"  said  Rodney,  with  apparent  in- 
difference, "  at  one  time  I  thought  Medhurst  was  a 
little  in  love  with  that  young  lady.  But  the  impres- 
sion passed.  You  came,  and  certainly  he  seemed 
to  be  devoted  to  you." 

"  But  he  was  not.  He  denied  his  real  feeling  ;  he 
was  visited  by  compunctions  with  regard  to  you.  He 
hated,  besides,  the  idea  that  he  had  nothing  to  lose, 
and  everything  to  gain  "  — 

Rodney  made  a  gesture  for  her  to  be  silent.  A 
strange  feeling,  made  up  of  doubt,  alarm,  stupor,  and 
rage,  took  possession  of  him.  He  had  suspected 
that  something  was  going  on, — he  had  not  been 
blind,  —  but  he  had  found  it  easier  to  trust  his 
fellow-creatures  than  to  impute  bad  motives  to  them. 

There  seemed  to  be  some  black,  unknown  gulf  of 
knowledge  into  which  Fanny  longed  to  plunge  him, 


TOO   CLEVEE  BY  HALF.  337 

and  he  trembled  at  the  ordeal ;  but  what  matter, 
after  all?  What  did  anything  count?  Suppose 
Medhurst  cared  for  Cecil,  —  suppose,  indeed,  Cecil 
cared  for  him?  If  it  were  a  mere  feeling,  uncon- 
fessed,  unspoken —  Had  Medhurst  once  presumed 
to  acquaint  Cecil  with  his  feelings  —  His  anger 
grew :  he  should  know  how  to  punish  a  fellow  like 
that,  who  stole  into  a  girl's  confidence.  He  was  all 
tense,  alert,  ready  to  spring.  The  music,  which  had 
ceased  for  a  time,  began  again  with  some  old,  worn, 
but  sweet,  Italian  aria. 

''Girls  generally  have  several  suitors,"  Rodney 
now  remarked  blandly.  "  Miss  Haxtoun  deserves 
as  many  as  the  most  charming  of  them." 

"  She  has  accepted  one  to-night,"  said  Fanny, 
with  a  soft  voice  and  a  dazzling  smile. 

"To-night?" 

"Yes,  to-night,  on  the  terrace, — just  after  the 
play  was  over." 

Rodney  stood  still,  his  arms  tightly  folded. 

Fanny's  voice  sounded  strange  to  him,  as  if  some 
one  else  were  speaking.  Had  he  heard  aright?  No, 
this  was  some  trick  of  phrase,  some  joke ;  at  Jeast 
the  thing  was  an  accident,  he  need  not  adjust  his 
consciousness  to  it.  The  reason  it  had  struck  him 
with  so  much  force  was  that  he  alone  knew  the 
absurdity  of  it. 

"  As  3'ou  say,"  she  went  on,  "  having  come  acci- 
dentally upon  the  declaration  and  acceptance,  and 
unwittingly  seen  her  in  his  arms "  — 

"Oh,  come!"  said  Rodney,  in  a  voice  of  dis- 
gust. He  looked  at  her  indignantly  and  reproach- 
fully. His  lips  curled  scornfully.  "  Let  us  go  and 


338  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

have  a  glass  of  champagne,"  said  he.  "The  rush 
is  over  in  the  supper-room,  and  we  may  be  able  to 
sit  down  and  eat  a  cream-ice  comfortably." 

"  You  are  not  angry  with  me,  are  you,  Eodney?" 
Fanny  asked,  with  a  little  tremulousness  in  her 
voice.  She  began  to  believe  that  she  had  erred  in 
judgment,  and  would  have  tried,  if  she  could,  to 
repair  her  error ;  but  his  closed  lips  expressed  such 
disdain  she  felt  a  sort  of  confusion,  wholly  doubted 
herself,  and  wondered  why  she  had  permitted  her 
tongue  to  utter  the  words  she  had  been  eager  to 
force  upon  him. 

Rodney  led  her  into  the  supper-room,  put  her  in  a 
chair,  and  called  the  butler  to  her.  Then  he  walked 
to  the  sideboard  and  took  up  a  decanter  of  brandy, 
and  poured  out  a  small  glass.  He  gazed  into  it  a 
moment,  scrutinizing  it  as  if  it  were  something  to  be 
analyzed  and  studied,  then  lifted  it  to  his  lips.  He 
set  it  down  untasted,  however. 

"  No,  I  won't  do  this  yet,  at  all  events,"  he  said, 
half-aloud. 

He  looked  about  the  dining-room,  then  went  out 
and  glanced  into  every  room  by  turns.  He  was 
looking  for  Cecil,  but  found  her  nowhere.  He 
encountered  Alec  Haxtoun  presently,  who  was 
walking  up  and  down  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase, 
talking  with  Arthur  Snow,  who,  even  to  Rodney 
Heriot's  perceptions,  ordinarily  very  careless  con- 
cerning this  3'oung  man,  was  in  some  peculiar  state 
of  agitation.  Alec,  however,  received  his  torrent 
of  incoherent  words  with  anything  but  serious- 
ness. 

"  Look  here,  Heriot,"  said  he,  with  a  burst  of 


TOO   CLEVER  BY  HALF.  339 

laughter,  "  you  have  been  everywhere,  done  eve^- 
thing,  and  you  must  know  the  code  of  honor  and  all 
its  etiquette.  Here's  a  young  fellow  who  wants  to 
fight  a  duel,  and  you  may  be  able  to  help  him." 

"Whom  does  he  want  to  kill?"  inquired  Rod- 
ney,—  "Stein,  the  manager?  He  was  hard  on  you, 
Snow." 

"It  isn't  Stein,  —  it's  Medhurst,"  said  Alec,  laugh- 
ing again. 

"Medhurst?"  repeated  Rodney,  with  some  sur- 
prise. "What  has  Medhurst  done?".  He,  too, 
began  to  laugh.  "  Medhurst  seems  to  be  turning 
everything  topsy-turvy,"  he  remarked. 

"  Well,  will  you  be  Arthur's  second?" 

"With  all  my  heart.  Shall  I  wait  on  Medhurst 
to-night  or  to-morrow  morning?" 

Snow  turned  very  sulky.  "  You  are  making  fun 
of  me,"  said  he;  "but  I  am  intensely  serious. 
Medhurst  has  insulted  me,  and  I  want  satisfaction. 
I  don't  know  about  duels,  —  they  seem  to  be  obso- 
lete,—  but  there  ought  to  be  some  sort  of  repara- 
tion." 

"  Oh,  fight  him!  Revive  the  duel,  —  shoot  him 
or  stab  him,"  said  Alec. 

"He  insulted  you,  did  he?"  asked  Rodney,  look- 
ing at  Snow's  fierce,  puckered  face.  u  Ah,  well, 
you  know  we  are  highly  civilized  and  perfectly 
Christian  nowadays !  If  he  smites  one  cheek  turn 
the  other ;  be  patient,  be  generous,  —  or  else  go  and 
knock  him  down." 

"  But  he  began  by  knocking  Arthur  down,"  said 
Alec. 


340  ^   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"He  seems  to  be  the  devil  of  a  fellow,"  said 
Rodney. 

It  was  possible  that  Arthur  had  taken  a  little  too 
much  wine,  or  else  he  was  lighter-headed  than  usual. 

*'  I  could  make  you  quarrel  with  him,  Heriot,"  he 
now  said  malignantly.  "You  had  better  lookout 
that  he  does  not  undermine  you  with  "  — 

"Hold  your  tongue,  you  idiot!"  said  Rodney, 
angrily.  "  Haxtoun,  get  this  quarrelsome  cur  out 
of  the  way,  won't  you?  I  won't  have  him  blabbing 
his  maudlin  nonsense  in  this  house.  Here  come  the 
ladies." 

And  at  that  moment  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  Miss  Win- 
chester, and  Cecil  appeared  on  the  stairs  ;  Cecil  fol- 
lowing the  other  two,  and  carrying  on  her  arm  a 
soft  white  mantle,  which  seemed  all  made  of  feathers 
and  down.  Rodney  went  up  to  her  as  she  reached 
the  lowest  stair. 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  you,"  said  he. 

He  took  the  cloak  from  her  and  stood  blocking 
her  way.  She  was  raised  a  little  above  him,  and  he 
looked  up  into  her  face  with  a  persistent  interroga- 
tion in  his  own ;  his  forehead  was  contracted,  his 
eyes  imperious,  his  lips  tightl}'  closed. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  murmured,  "  whether  to  let 
you  go  or  not.  It  seems  safer  to  keep  you.  Who 
knows  what  may  happen  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  a  word.  She  could  not  even 
sustain  his  glance.  A  scorching  sensation  of  shame 
consumed  her. 

"  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow,"  he  said,  gently. 

He  stepped  aside  and  allowed  her  to  pass,  and, 
following  her,  put  the  cloak  over  her  shoulders  and 


TOO   CLEVER  BY   HALF.  341 

drew  the  hood  over  her  hear! .  She  turned  and  looked 
at  him  while  he  did  this  with  a  soft,  childlike  glance, 
a  little  embarrassed,  but  very  sweet  and  gracious.- 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  have  done  for  me?"  he 
asked. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Drawn  away  my  good,  useful,  comfortable  heart, 
and  put  a  thorn  in  its  place." 

Mrs.  Haxtoun  was  already  in  the  carriage,  and 
now  called  to  her  daughter.  She  also  addressed 
Rodney,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  Some- 
bocVy  else  put  Cecil  in,  and  shut  the  door.  Rodney 
stood  on  the  porch  for  a  while,  in  a  sort  of  stupor, 
conscious  of  au  intense  heaviness  weighing  upon 
him  without  admitting  to  himself  what  it  was.  He 
was  afraid  to  give  way  to  passion  ;  he  was  afraid  to 
be  alone,  lest  he  should  become  violent  and  agitated. 
The  guests  were  leaving  singly  and  in  groups.  He 
stood  aside  and  let  them  pass,  without  turning  his 
face  from  the  shadow.  When  the  last  carriage  had 
rolled  awa}',  he  went  in,  and  found  his  mother  and 
Mrs.  Dalton  sitting  in  the  parlor,  the  former  drink- 
ing bouillon. 

"I  wondered  where  you  were,  Rodney,"  said 
Mrs.  Este".  "  You  left  it  all  for  me  to  do." 

"Of  course  I  did." 

"  I  am  so  warm,  and  so  very,  very  tired.  There 
were  so  many  people,  and  I  had  to  remember  their 
names  and  something  about  their  families.  It  is  so 
hard  to  remember  people's  names." 

"  The  deuce  of  a  bore  !  The}'  ought  to  have  little 
labels  affixed  ;  or  why  shouldn't  they  be  signed,  liko 
pictures  ?  " 


342  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Then  I  should  have  to  get  out  my  eye-glass  to 
read  the  signatures,"  said  Mrs.  Este.  "And,  after 
all,  what  is  the  use  of  knowing  their  names  ?  All 
the  men  and  women  I  used  to  know  and  care  about 
are  dead,  and  the  new  ones  tire  me.  They  know 
nothing  about  what  used  to  be  my  delight  and  my 
comfort.  I  can  turn  to  none  of  them  and  say,  '  Do 
you  remember  when  we  were  there  together,  that 
day?'  or,  'What  was  it  we  were  doing  when  he 
came  ? '  Nobody  knows  my  past ;  it  is  all  locked 
up  in  my  own  mind,  and  when  I  get  a  glimpse  of  it 
it  is  like  a  Medusa's  head,  —  it  strikes  me  dead." 

"Good  gracious!"  exclaimed  Rodney.  "Our 
generation  can't  talk  like  that." 

"  No,  indeed.  I  don't  like  the  present  genera- 
tion. I  am  tired  of  my  kingdom,  Rodney.  I  am 
ready  to  pass  it  all  ov.er  to  you.  You  shall  have  a 
beautiful  young  wife,  and  she  shall  have  my  place." 

Mrs.  Este"  rose.  She  was  dressed  magnificently, 
in  point  and  diamonds  ;  she  wore  a  little  coronet  on 
her  white  curls.  She  was  very  feeble,  nevertheless  ; 
she  tottered  across  to  her  son,  and  lifted  her  cheek 
to  be  kissed.  He  flung  his  arms  about  her,  instead, 
and  embraced  her  ardently. 

"O  my  old  mother!"  he  muttered,  "my  old 
mother-! " 

She  fluttered  away  from  his  arms  with  the  air  of 
a  bird  smoothing  down  her  ruffled  plumage. 

"  You  are  as  rough  as  you  used  to  be  as  a  boy," 
said  she.  "Good-night!  Good-night,  Fanny !"  And 
she  went  off  on  her  maid's  arm. 

Mrs.  Dalton  made  a  very  pretty  picture  coiled  up 


TOO   CLEVER  BY  HALF.  343 

on  a  sofa,  watching  the  little  scene  between  her  half- 
closed  eyelids. 

"  Have  you  forgiven  me?  "  she  asked,  when  they 
were  alone. 

Rodney  turned  and  bent  upon  her  a  piercing  look. 
He  said  to  himself  that  she  was  very  pertinacious, 
and  that  such  pertinacity  must  have  some  cause. 

"  Forgive'  you  !"  said  he.  "I  have  nothing  to 
forgive  that  I  remember.  Certainly,  I  have  no  anger 
against  you." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  admire  you,"  pursued  Rod- 
ney 5  "you  look  very  well  —  half -sitting,  half-re- 
clining, there.  It  is  impossible  not  to  acknowledge 
the  bewitchingness  of  that  attitude,  with  your  bare 
arms  raised  to  the  back  of  }Tour  head." 

Fanny  laughed. 

"  You  are  an  artist,  — }Tou  see  the  picture,  not  the 
woman." 

"  The  artist  in  me  only  makes  me  appreciate  you 
the  more,"  persisted  Rodney.  "I  am  thinking 
about  yourself ,  and  not  your  beauty,  at  this  moment. 
I  am  suddenly  curious  concerning  you." 

"  If  I  could  believe  that ! " 

' '  You  may.  I  was  thinking  about  what  you  said  of 
Medhurst,  —  that  you  had  looked  forward  to  seeing 
him  attentive,  humble,  devoted,  again.  Of  course, 
it  could  have  been  so,  if  you  had  desired  it.  I  fancy 
he  discovered  some  indifference  in  you.  Perhaps 
you  were  too  lukewarm.  Once  interested  in  a  man 
you  would  not  readily  let  him  escape." 

"  I  don't  feel  sure  whether  that  is  flattery  or  re- 
proach." 


344  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Men  are  like  children  :  they  like  light,  warmth, 
and  companionship ;  the}'  hate  silence,  darkness, 
and  solitude.  These  influences  are  all-powerful.  If 
you  had  cared,  or  seemed  to  care,  for  Medhurst  he 
would  have  returned  to  you  at  once.  You  are  not 
a  woman  whom  men  forget.  You  have  had  your 
mind  on  something  else,  —  the  play,  perhaps.  Or 
is  there  some  other  man  in  your  thoughts?  I  am  not 
asking,  you  know.  I  am  merely  speaking  my 
thoughts  aloud." 

He  paused  and  looked  at  her.  She  had  grown 
pensive ;  her  eyes  were  bent  on  the  floor ;  a  little 
color  tinged  her  cheek. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  softly,  "you  understand 
me." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  3-011  in  love,"  he  continued. 
"You  are  proud  ;  you  have  self-restraint;  you  are 
not  given  to  lavish  sentiment.  If  your  heart  once 
fully  awoke  "  — 

She  raised  her  eyes  and  fixed  them  oniim. 

"  You  are  enigmatical,"  she  said. 

"If  your  heart  once  fully  awoke,"  he  pursued, 
"  it  would  carry  you  a  long  way.  But  the  question 
is,  could  your  heart  be  fully  aroused  ?  Could  you 
fall  in  love?" 

Fanny  half  rose,  then  sank  back  on  the  sofa. 
She  was  a  little  agitated,  and  her  features  all 
showed  the  effort  of  self-repression.  One  would 
have  said,  too,  that  it  was  a  joyful  emotion,  almost 
a  triumph,  to  which  she  was  half  yielding. 

Rodney  regarded  her  with  singular  composure. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  now  said  softly. 

For  answer  she  only  lifted  her  eyes  and  looked 


TOO   CLEVER  BY  HALF.  345 

at  him,  and  still,  with  her  glance  fixed  on  him,  she 
stood  up. 

"I  had  better  say  good-night.  It  is  late,"  she 
murmured. 

"Yes,  it  is  late,  —  you  had  better  say  good- 
night," said  Rodney,  approaching  her.  "  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me  first,"  he  went  on,  "  who  it  is  you 
love." 

Fanny  shook  from  head  to  foot,  as  if  she  were 
cold. 

"  Somebody  who  does  not  love  me  in  return," 
she  exclaimed,  with  a  swift  anger.  "Somebody 
at  whose  feet  I  might  throw  myself,  but  who  would 
not  even  stoop  to  pick  me  up.  Somebody  whom 
I  love  as  he  has  never  been  loved,  and  will  never 
be  loved  again." 

Rodney  looked  at  her  with  a  cool,  attentive 
look.  "Generous  Fanny!"  he  said  softly,  and 
took  her  hand. 

"What  did  you  mean?"  she  cried,  her  face 
frowning  suddenly  as  black  as  a  thunder-cloud.  She 
felt  that  she  had  been  insulted  and  humiliated,  but 
yet  was  chiefly  in  a  fury  with  herself  for  having 
been  led  on  against  her  reason  and  against  her  will, 
dazzled  by  the  delusive  hope  his  words  held  out. 
She  tried  to  tear  her  hand  away  from  him  ;  but  he 
held  it  fast,  and  would  not  let  it  go,  not  seeming  to 
perceive  either  her  anger  or  her  agitation. 

"Must  you  go?"  he  asked,  in  a  drowsy  voice. 
"  Ah,  well,  sleep  sweetly,  Fanny  !  " 

He  led  her  to  the  door  with  an  air  of  chivalrous 
courtesy,  and  then  raised  her  hand  as  if  to  imprint 


346  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

a  kiss  upon  it.  But  it  was  a  mere  form ;  he  bent 
his  head,  then  raised  it  with  a  smiling  air. 

"Good-night!"  he  said  again,  and  then  closed 
the  door  after  her.  Left  alone  in  the  parlor  where 
all  the  lights  were  still  burning,  he  said  to  him- 
self:— 

"  She  is  a  devil  of  a  woman ! " 


"HAD  I  WIST  BEFORE  I  KIST."       347 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

"HAD  i  WIST  BEFORE  i  KIST." 

"TUST  between  the  old  Haxtoun  house  and  the 
*J  river  was  a  densely  shaded  little  nook,  over- 
hung by  vines  and  creepers,  which,  finding  no 
longer  a  foothold  on  the  stone-walls,  turned  for  sup- 
port to  the  nearest  tree,  which  they  had  dwarfed 
and  twisted  into  the  shape  of  a  bamboo.  Late  in 
the  day  this  quiet  niche  was  dark  as  night,  beneath 
the  thick  greenery,  but  the  early  morning  sun 
searched  it  through  with  its  first  beams  ;  and  it  was 
here  that  Medhurst  waited  for  Cecil.  He  had  left 
the  house  long  before  sunrise,  for  he  had  scarcely 
slept  at  all.  Towards  morning  he  had  been 
suddenly  overtaken  by  slumber,  which  lasted  but 
a  few  moments,  but  which  was  sufficient  to  mark 
the  dividing  line  between  yesterday  and  to-day. 
He  had  gone  to  sleep  still  under  the  dominion  of 
the  imperious  sentiment  which  had  made  it  easy  for 
him  to  accept  the  young  girl's  love.  The  barriers 
between  them  were  all  down  :  she  was  sweet  and 
precious  to  him :  she  was  necessary,  beyond  all 
things  necessar}',  and  she  was  his.  He  had  sunk 
into  unconsciousness,  feeling  that  he  clasped  and 
possessed  the  treasure  of  the  world.  He  awoke 
presently  in  quite  a  different  mood.  He  rose, 


348  A   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

dressed,  and  went  out  of  doors,  while  the  auroral 
vapors  were  vanishing.  The  sky  grew  rosy,  then 
pearl}- ;  luminous  clouds  floated  over  the  east ;  but 
he  had  no  eyes  for  the  glories  of  the  new  day.  He 
said  to  himself,  as  he  paced  the  damp  turf,  that  he 
knew  the  sensations  of  a  man  who  recovers  his 
reason  after  an  interval  of  insanit}*,  and  finds  that, 
carried  away  by  his  delirium,  he  has  committed  a 
heinous  crime.  He  sank  in  his  self-respect  when  he 
remembered  that,  by  accident,  by  the  merest  momen- 
tary impulse,  he  had  done  the  very  thing  he  had 
sworn  to  himself  he  would  never  do.  He  had  boon 
conquered  by  the  sight  of  the  young  girl  in  the  half- 
light,  her  eyes  fixed  on  him,  her  lips  tremulous,  her 
little  hands  fluttering  towards  him,  and  he  had  not 
tried  to  resist  the  sorcery  of  this  magical  tempta- 
tion. A  burning  fire  ran  through  his  veins  still,  as 
he  remembered  that  moment ;  yet  the  keenest  self- 
reproach  governed  him.  She  was  so  young,  so  in- 
experienced ;  he  had  declared  to  himself,  over  and 
over,  that  he  would  save  her  from  her  own  gener- 
osity'. Had  he  been  out  of  his  senses?  If  the  reve- 
lation of  feeling  had  been  the  end  of  iD  he  might 
have  carried  the  precious,  potent  memory  to  the  end 
of  his  days,  and  have  been  the  richer  for  it.  But  to 
have  leaped  into  the  position  of  accepted  lover,  the 
prospective  husband  of  this  young  princess  !  The 
idea  was  preposterous;  wildly,  frantically  absurd. 
He  was  ashamed  of  himself  that,  even  for  a  moment, 
this  revolting  incongruity  had  seemed  no  incongru- 
ity at  all,  but  a  delightful  and  perfected  ideal  of 
existence.  It  was  spoliation ;  it  was  robbery  to 
deprive  her  of  her  happy,  girlish  life  and  offer  her  in 


"  HAD  I  WIST  BEFORE  I  KIST."       349 

return  a  share  of  his  own  tame,  meagre,  shabby 
existence.  And  he  had  never  had  any  intention  of 
doing  it.  He  seemed  to  have  been  swept  on  by  a 
current  of  outside  forces,  apparently  powerless  to 
resist.  Now  that  the  vivid  impression  upon  his 
imagination  had  faded  away  he  was  ready  to 
impute  the  worst  motives  to  himself,  to  find  himself 
wholly  without  excuse  for  his  conduct.  There  was 
no  logical  gap  between  his  state  of  mind  of  yester- 
day and  to-day  into  which  he  could  interpolate  this 
bewildering  episode. 

The  glamour,  the  extraordinary  naivete  of  his 
state  of  mind,  the  night  before,  was  the  most  sur- 
prising thing  in  his  experience. 

The  day  was  well  awake  by  this  time.  The 
river  was  flashing  with  motion  and  light.  There 
were  indistinct  murmurs,  movings,  and  beatings  all 
through  the  shrubberies  and  grass.  Birds  were 
darting  everywhere,  whirring,  clamoring  with  an 
exuberance  of  energy ;  the  drone  of  the  insects 
had  begun.  Medhurst  looked  at  his  watch. 
Two  hours  had  passed  since  he  came  down  from 
his  room ;  it  was  nearing  seven  o'clock.  Would 
Cecil  keep  the  appointment  he  had  so  imperiously 
made  ?  He  seemed  to  see  her  lying  on  her  pillow, 
like  a  lily,  half-asleep,  half-waking,  the  white 
petals  just  unclosed.  Before  her  mind  would  be 
floating  a  diaphanous  and  rose-colored  mist  of 
memories  and  hopes  ;  in  this  half  daylight  of  her 
thoughts  she  would  remember  the  kiss  he  had 
given  her  the  night  before.  Would  it  be  with  a 
smile  on  her  parted  lips,  and  a  laugh  in  her  rich 
eyes,  or  with  a  blush  and  a  sudden  quickening  of 


350  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

some  nameless  terror,  which  made  her  turn  and 
hide  her  face,  perhaps  annihilated  sentiment,  pas- 
sion, tenderness,  at  a  breath? 

But  he  could  not  think  of  her  without  melting. 
He  had  it  in  his  heart  to  wish  that  she  had  been 
more  proud,  more  consistent,  less  generous,  less 
seductive.  Yet,  just  as  she  had  been,  just  as  she 
was,  he  worshipped  her.  What  had  she  seen  in 
him  to  believe  in,  trust,  and  cling  to?  If  he  were 
worthy,  how  was  she  to  know  it?  And  yet,  in 
some  dim  way,  the  instinct  of  faith  in  hkn  had 
moved  her  from  the  first.  All  at  once  he  re- 
membered the  night  he  had  rowed  her  up  the  river, 
and  the  heavens  above  and  the  waters  below 
them  glowed  with  the  colors  of  the  sunset,  and 
the  atmosphere  about  them,  seemed  magically  lit. 

Certainly  he  was  in  a  strange  frame  of  mind : 
on  the  one  side  led  by  all  the  illusions  of  a  pas- 
sionate love,  and,  on  the  other,  restrained,  domi- 
nated, tyrannized  over.  Twice  he  had  thought  he 
saw  a  white  dress  in  the  distance ;  but  once  it  was 
the  trunk  of  a  white  birch,  which  the  swajnng 
branches  first  hid,  and  then  disclosed ;  then  it 
was  the  gleam  of  the  opening  lilies,  which  he 
mistook  for  Cecil's  shining  raiment.  But  now,  all 
at  once,  his  heart  began  to  beat  swiftly  and 
strongly.  It  was  no  error  of  his  senses  this  time. 
The  young  girl  herself  was  coming  down  the  walk, 
a  little  slowly,  a  little  abashed,  with  childlike 
intentness  and  seriousness  diffused  over  her  whole 
face  and  manner. 

Involuntarily    Medhurst    started   up.      He    was 


"HAD  I  WIST  BEFORE  I  KIST."        351 

ready  to  fall  on  his  knees.  A  strong  sense  of  the 
reality  of  all  that  had  passed  between  them  surged 
back,  governing  his  consciousness.  He  was  not 
worthy  of  her,  but  she  had  sought  him  out ;  she 
had  made  him  her  equal ;  she  had  given  him  her 
love  ;  and  could  he  not  be  grateful,  could  he  not  be 
loyal?  Was  she  not  the  embodiment  of  all  he 
loved  best  in  the  world?  Her  clear,  frank  glance 
as  she  approached  sent  peace  into  his  very  soul. 
But,  as  he  went  forward  to  meet  her,  he  did  not 
even  touch  her  hand. 

"  It  was  good  of  you  to  come,"  he  said  softly. 
"  Sit  down." 

She  sat  down  on  the  bench  at  the  foot  of  the  tree, 
and  he  took  his  place  by  her  side.  She  wore  a 
wide-brimmed  hat,  which,  as  she  leaned  her  chin 
upon  her  hand,  hid  all  but  the  rosy  oval  of  the 
cheek  and  the  milk-white  throat.  Medhurst  could 
see  that  she  was  trembling ;  her  fingers  fluttered, 
and  he  laid  his  own  upon  them. 

"Tell  me,  Cecil,"  said  he,  "  are  you  of  the  same 
mind  you  were  last  evening?  What  did  you  think 
of  when  you  awoke,  —  that  you  were  mine?"  He 
went  on,  with  increasing  agitation  :  "  Has  that  little 
flutter  of  kind  feeling  lasted  all  night,  or  are  you 
more  clear-e}*ed  now,  and  do  you  see  me  as  I  am  ?  " 

For  answer  she  lifted  her  head  and  turned  her 
lovely  face  towards  him,  so  radiant,  so  dazzling, 
that  he  felt  almost  blinded  by  it ;  then,  all  at  once, 
with  a  bird's  swiftness,  she  stooped  and  leaned  her 
cheek  against  his  hand. 

"  You  know,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am  a  beggar.  I 
can  give  you  no  luxuries,  —  none.  I  will  try  to  take 


352  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

care  of  you  so  that  you  need  know  no  suffering,  no 
great  privation  ;  but,  Heaven  help  me,  I  seem  to  be  an. 
unlucky  man.  Hitherto  I  have  not  prospered,  and 
I  may  not  prosper  in  the  years  to  come." 

She  looked  at  him  and  smiled.  "  I  am  not  poor," 
she  whispered.  "  I  have  money  of  my  own." 

He  dropped  her  hand  and  started  up.  "  Don't 
say  that ;  don't  think  of  it  yourself,"  he  exclaimed, 
throwing  off  the  suggestion  as  if  it  stung  him.  "  For 
me  to  come  here,  —  to  steal  your  love  ;  to  profit  by 
it,  —  that  would  be  the  final  humiliation.  I  had  no 
right  ever  to  think  of  you,  none.  I  knew  it  all  the 
time.  I  had  no  intention  of  speaking  to  you  last 
night,  but  the  words  burst  from  me.  I  —  I "  — 

Cecil  was  gazing  at  him  as  if  fascinated. 

"  It  was  I  who  was  to  blame,"  she  faltered. 

This  innocent  speech  almost  cost  him  the  rem- 
nants of  his  self-control. 

"You  know,"  said  he,  "I  had  decided  to  go 
away." 

"  But  you  could  not  have  gone  away,"  said  Cecil. 
"  Do  you  know  that  I  dreamed  last  night  that  you 
were  gone?" 

She  looked  up  at  him,  half-smiling,  half-reproach- 
ful. 

"  Let  your  dream  come  true,"  said  he,  with  a  su- 
preme effort.  "  I  will  go  away.  All  you  have  to 
do  is  to  go  back  to  the  house  now,  and  never  think 
of  me  again.  You  need  be  troubled  by  me  no 
more.  I  feel  it  —  I  know  it  —  I  have  neither  part 
nor  lot  in  your  life." 

He  was  conscious  of  his  harshness,  of  his  brutality 
even.  But  only  two  courses  seemed  open  to  him,  — 


"HAD  I  WIST  BEFORE  I  KIST."        353 

either  to  clasp  her  to  his  heart,  or  to  fling  her  from 
him.  He  must  either  be  tender  or  be  hard  ;  he  was 
not  strong  enough  to  be  both.  She  listened  to  him 
at  first  with  a  face  of  ardent  remonstrance,  which 
gradually  changed  into  a  sort  of  white  despair. 
There  was  silence  for  a  long  moment  after  he  had 
finished,  when  she  continued  to  gaze  at  him ;  then 
she  rose.  Tears  had  rushed  to  her  eyes  and  blinded 
her,  and  a  little,  choking  sob  met  his  ear.  Med- 
hurst  was  seized  by  a  strange  feeling.  He  saw  that 
she  took  him  at  his  word :  that  she  was  about  to  go, 
and  he  knew  it  was  better  that  she  should  leave  him. 
When  she  went  she  would  take  everything  from  him  ; 
but,  at  least,  he  had  done  his  duty,  and  freed  her  from 
the  consequences  of  her  mistake.  But,  at  the  sound 
of  the  sob,  something  stronger  than  his  logic  or  his 
will  clutched  at  his  consciousness.  He  put  his  hand 
on  her  dress  to  detain  her  a  moment. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  terribly  agitated,  "  that  I 
love  you  with  my  whole  heart, — that  —  it  —  kills  — 
me  —  to  —  give  —  you  —  up." 

She  sank  back  on  the  seat,  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands,  and  broke  into  overflowing  sobs  and  tears. 

"But  what  I  mean  is,"  he  went  on,  "  that  my 
love  counts  for  nothing.  I  can  give  up  the  woman 
I  love  —  but  not  the  woman  who  loves  me." 

She  looked  up  at  him  a  moment,  and  they  both 
smiled. 

'  "If  you  really  love  me,"  she  began,  in  a  broken 
voice. 

"  If  I  love  you,"  repeated  Medhurst,  still  smiling. 

"But  do  you?"  she  demanded,  her  whole  tear- 
stained  face  full  of  entreatv. 


354  A   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  I  don't  dare  trust  myself,"  said  Medhurst ;  and 
it  was  exactly  as  he  had  said  —  that  he  was  afraid  to 
trust  himself.  "  I  should  be  glad  enough  to  feel  that 
our  destiny  is  chosen, — that  nothing  can  alter  it. 
But  I  know  —  my  reason  tells  me  there  is  no  fatality 
about  this  —  a  choice  is  still  open  to  you.  I  do 
not  feel  that  I  have  the  right  to  shut  down  all  the 
doors  of  your  fate  except  the  one  which  opens  on 
me.  If  circumstances  were  different ;  if  you  had 
no  other  suitor" — 

Cecil  made  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  You  are  cruel  to  speak  of  him,"  she  said,  as  if 
heart-broken.  "  I  told  you  I  dreamed  last  night 
that  you  had  gone  away.  I  knew  that  you  were 
gone,  and  would  never  come  back.  I  knew,  too, 
that  I  could  never  follow  you,  and  all  that  re- 
mained for  me  was  to  be  Mr.  Heriot's  wife.  He  was 
talking  to  me  and  looking  at  me,  smiling  all  the  time 
just  as  he  had  smiled  in  the  evening ;  and  I  hated 
him.  I  longed  to  be  free  of  him.  It  was  a  great 
misery ;  it  weighed  on  my  heart ;  it  turned  me 
cold  and  sick,  and  I  said  to  myself,  I  must  somehow 
be  free.  I  must  wrench  myself  away.  But  when  I 
tried  to  do  it  he  would  not  let  me  go ;  he  held  me 
tight,  and  at  the  horror  of  this  I  woke  up,  and,  oh,  I 
sobbed  with  joy  that  it  was  not  true,  —  that  you  had 
not  gone  away ;  that  you  were  here  to  decide  for  me 
—  to  be  strong  for  me." 

Medhurst  had  fallen  on  his  knees  before  her. 

"  How  can  you  prefer  me  to  Heriot?"  he  asked, 
looking  into  her  face.  "  Heriot  has  everything  ;  he 
is  more  attractive  than  I  am,  a  thousand  times  more 


"  HAD  I  WIST  BEFORE  I  KIST."        355 

attractive,  and  far  cleverer.  On  my  word,  I  believe 
}*ou  ought  to  be  in  love  with  Heriot." 

"  And  there  is  Mrs.  Dalton,"  returned  Cecil, 
"  more  beautiful  and  charming  than  I  am  a  thousand 
times."  Medhurst  laughed  slightly.  "I  always 
knew  you  were  in  love  with  her"  — 

"You  were  jealous  of  her;  it  turned  my  brain 
to  believe  it,  but  I  knew  it  all  the  time.  I  do 
almost  dare  to  think  you  love  me.  But " — 

"  Oh,  but  —  too  many  buts" — 

"  Your  mother  will  hate  me.  You  will  have  to 
stem  the  full  tide  of  the  current  against  me,  —  now, 
with  Heriot,  wind  and  tide  are  favorable." 

"Are  you  afraid?" 

He  flung  his  arm  about  her.  "Afraid?  I  am 
afraid  of  nothing  but  doing  you  some  injury." 

He  was  ready  .to  forget  everything  again.  She 
was  so  near  to  him,  so  simple,  so  trusting,  so 
absolutely  true  in  heart  and  feeling,  he  was  ready  to 
dismiss  his  self-accusations  and  draw  her  to  his 
heart.  But  some  glimmer  of  an  instinct,  blind,  but 
unerring,  made  him  sa}- :  — 

"  That  was  a  strange  dream  of  yours." 

"  It  was  a  hideous  dream." 

"  Heriot  has  never  spoken  to  you,  I  believe?" 

"  Spoken  to  me?"  she  repeated,  as  if  uncertain 
of  his  meaning. 

"  He  has  not  made  love  to  }rou?  " 

"  He  has  been  making  love  to  me  all  the  time," 
cried  Cecil,  indignantly. 

"  Good  God  !  "  ejaculated  Medhurst,  withdrawing 
his  arm  from  her  waist.  "  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  could  not  help  it,"  said  Cecil.     "  I  did  not 


356  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

like  it ;  but  mamma  wished  it.  At  first,"  she  went 
on,  "  I  thought  you  were  to  marry  Mrs.  Dalton,  and 
that  nothing  mattered." 

Med  hurst  had  risen  to  his  feet. 

"  Cecil,"  said  he,  "  tell  me  clearly  what  you 
are  alluding  to.  Has  Mr.  Heriot  made  you  an  offer 
of  marriage?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  timidly. 

"  Did  you  accept  or  refuse  him?" 

"  He  made  the  offer  to  mamma,  and  she  accepted 
it  for  me.  Mamma  told  me  it  was  all  arranged ; 
that  it  was  to  be.  I  did  not  feel  it  so.  I  could 
not  tell  what  to  do  "  — 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  are  engaged  to 
Heriot?" 

"  I  have  not  told  him  so  ;  but "  — 

"But  what  ?" 

"He  thinks  so," 

"  Thinks  you  are  engaged  to  him  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  Since  when?" 

"  Since  the  day  of  the  picnic." 

"  Two  days  ago."  Medhurst  gazed  at  her;  she 
looked  like  a  creature  in  pain,  but  he  could  not  spare 
her. 

"  He  is  your  accepted  lover,  then." 

"Oh,  no  — no  — no!" 

"  Has  he  not  considered  himself  your  accepted 
lover?" 

She  was  trembling  painfully  ;  her  color  came  and 
went. 

"  Tell  me !  — tell  me  !  "  he  cried,  impatiently. 


"HAD  I  WIST  BEFORE  I  KIST.n        357 

"I  am  frightened,"  she  murmured.  "You  are 
angry  with  me." 

"  Last  night,"  said  he,  shivering  as  if  with  cold, 
"  when  I  reached  out  my  arms  "  — 

It  was  impossible  for  him  to  utter  what  was  in  his 
mind.  Remembering  the  look  in  her  e}-es  as  they 
mot  his,  the  vfay  her  hands  had  fluttered  like  timid 
little  birds  into  his  own,  the  kiss  he  had  taken  from 
her  lips,  he  felt  dizzy  and  sick.  A  thousand  mis- 
erable thoughts  swarmed  through  his  mind.  "  How 
could  you,"  he  cried,  stung  by  pain,  —  "  how  could 
you  treat  me  so?" 

Cecil's  face  was  absolutely  calm ;  it  was  the  calm- 
ness of  a  gathering  despair  at  the  gradual  compre- 
hension of  where  she  stood.  She  pressed  her  hands 
to  her  temples. 

"  It  is  Mr.  Heriot  I  have  treated  badly,"  she  said, 
with  a  look  as  if  she  were  standing  on  some  giddy 
height  and  gazing  on  the  depths  below.  "It  is  you 
I  have  thought  of  all  the  time  and  never  of  him." 

Medhurst  listened  without  gaining  any  accurate 
impression  from  her  words. 

"I  knew  from  the  first  that  he  loved  you,  —  that 
he  was  trying  to  win  3-ou.  You  do  not  know  exactly 
what  you  have  done,  Cecil,  and  God  forbid  that  3'ou 
ever  should.  One  thing  is  clear :  if  you  are  prom- 
ised to  Heriot  you  are  in  no  way  mine.  His  rights 
are  prior,  superior.  I  yield  mine." 

"•  I  thought,"  said  Cecil,  "  that  you  would  help 
me." 

"  Help  you?     What  help  do  you  need  of  mine?  " 

"  You  are  not  kind ;  you  are  not  generous  to 
me." 


358  -A-  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Medhurst  looked  at  her  with  a  bitter  smile. 

"You  don't  know, — you  don't  know,"  he  said, 
very  quietly. 

"Let  me  tell  you  all,  and  then  you  will  know," 
cried  Cecil.  Her  voice  almost  failed  her.  She  was 
sobbing  ;  her  lips  were  trembling,  —  she  looked  ready 
to  fall  at  his  feet. 

"  I  don't  feel  chivalrous  — I  don't  feel  generous," 
said  he.  "  But  do  not  think  I  am  angry  with  you, 
Cecil.  I  do  not  dare  to  think  about  you  at  all.  I 
have  been  a  fool,  —  that  might  be  borne  ;  but  I  have 
also  been  disloyal  and  dishonest  to  a  man  who 
was  kind  to  me.  Cecil,  I  am  not  sure  at  this 
moment  what  to  do  or  what  to  say.  A  few  hours 
hence  perhaps  "  —  He  placed  both  hands  upon  her 
head. 

"O  my  God!"  he  muttered;  "and  once  I 
thought  you  were  mine !  "  He  looked  racked  and 
tormented.  She  did  not  know  a  thousandth  part  of 
the  gust  of  passion  that  had  shaken  him. 

"  A  few  hours  later,"  he  repeated,  in  a  mechanical 
voice,  and  left  her. 


MEDHUEST  CUTS   THE  KNOT.          359 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

MEDHURST  CUTS  THE  GORDIAN  KNOT. 

r  I  COWARDS  noon  that  day  Rodney  Heriot  walked 
-J-  along  Mr.  Haxtouu's  lawn  to  the  spot  just 
outside  the  study  window  where  Medhurst  was 
sitting  at  his  work,  and  asked  him  to  come  out  and 
walk.  Medhurst  hesitated  a  moment,  then  pushed 
back  his  chair,  rose,  and  took  his  hat. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he,  "  I  will  go.  Let  me  speak 
to  Mr.  Haxtoun  first." 

Rodney  had  not  moved  from  the  place  when 
Medhurst  came  round  the  house  and  joined  him. 
"Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked. 

"  Have  you  any  choice?" 

"None." 

"  Then  let  us  go  back  on  the  hills  as  far  as  we 
can  walk.  The  day  is  beautiful,  —  not  too  warm. 
In  fact,  the  breeze  is  cool." 

They  struck  straight  across  the  grounds,  and  at 
the  stile  found  Rodney's  dogs  waiting  for  him  im- 
patiently. 

"  You  don't  object  to  the  animals,  I  hope,"  Rod- 
ney said. 

"Quite  the  contrary,"  Medhurst  replied. 

"  They  need  to  be  watched,  or  they  will  get  into 
mischief.  They  love  to  run  something  down  ;  they 


360  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

are  cruel  beasts.  But  then  they  know  not  what 
they  do.  We  are  all  cruel  until  we  find  out  how 
other  people's  pain  hurts  us." 

Medhurst  may  or  may  not  have  listened,  but  he 
said  nothing.  They  crossed  the  road,  skirted  a 
place  opposite,  climbed  a  high  fence,  and  found  them- 
selves on  the  slope  of  a  long  hill  filled  with  luxu- 
riant rye  ready  for  the  harvest.  The  golden  stalks 
were  higher  than  their  heads  as  they  took  the  narrow 
path  which  cut  diagonally  across  the  great  field. 
The  brilliant  sky  above,  the  sunlight  striking  through 
the  faintly  nodding  ears  to  the  slender  stalks  below, 
gave  curious  effects  of  light.  Rodney  led  the  way, 
followed  in  single  file  by  the  dogs,  each  bent  on 
good  behavior, — Max  solemn,  and  Duke  with  a  sort 
of  tricky  travesty  of  majesty.  Medhurst  lagged 
behind,  listless  and  languid.  Some  of  his  faculties 
were  keenly  awake,  others  were  asleep.  At  the  top  of 
the  hill  the  plantation  ended  abruptly,  and  the  woods 
began.  The  deep  shade  promised  rest  and  coolness, 
but  there  was  no  proposal  to  sit  down.  Rodney 
allowed  his  dogs  to  let  off  their  suppressed  spirits, 
and  himself  led  them  into  extravagant  antics.  To 
his  companion  he  hardly  spoke ;  and  Medhurst,  on 
his  side,  was  in  a  sombre,  inexorable  mood  he  was 
not  yet  ready  to  break.  When,  presently,  he  should 
make  an  effort  and  conquer  this  dull,  brooding 
passivity,  he  was  uncertain  what  he  should  say  and 
how  he  should  act.  Beyond  the  strip  of  woods 
began  a  higher  hill,  which  was  the  loftiest  eminence 
for  miles  around.  They  set  out  to  climb  it  with  a 
dogged  persistence.  The  sun  was  on  their  backs ; 
they  no  longer  felt  a  breath  of  the  reviving  breeze, 


MEDIIURST  CUTS    THE  KNOT.  3(J1 

and  when  they  had  gained  the  top  they  flung  them- 
selves down  under  an  oak  tree.  A  wide  view 
rewarded  them  at  this  point.  The  horizon  was 
withdrawn  on  the  east,  north,  and  south,  far  beyond 
the  ri.ver,  whose  course,  though  it  could  not  be  seen, 
might  be  identified  by  the  multiplying  beams  of 
light  which  the  air  took  on  above  the  line  of  water. 
Silent  wooded  hills,  rising  fold  on  fold,  closed  in 
the  west  with  occasional  glimpses  of  green  meadow 
lands  and  the  yellow  stubble  of  harvested  fields. 
At  no  great  distance  a  farmer  was  cutting  his  rye, 
the  reaper  going  round  and  round  like  a  windmill, 
cutting  and  tossing  the  stalks  in  long,  regular, 
swathes. 

"A  pretty  view,  is  it  not?"  said  Rodney,  speak- 
ing at  last. 

"  Yes.  Listen  to  the  drowsy  hum  !  And  do  you 
feel  the  heat?  It  comes  in  waves,  with  a  cooler 
breath  between." 

Rodney's  tongue  was  unloosed,  and  he  began  to 
talk.  He  saw  the  shadow  of  a  bird  flying  between 
him  and  the  sun,  and  it  set  him  telling  stories  of  all 
the  birds  he  knew.  He  could  recognize  each  one  by 
its  flight  and  its  habit  of  dropping  to  seize  its  prey. 
He  was  apparently  in  all  nature's  secrets.  He  could 
tell  about  the  ants  which  crawled  over  them,  and  the 
bees  which  buzzed  past  them.  He  pointed  out  a 
couple  of  rabbits  at  a  distance  down  the  slope  before 
even  the  dogs  discovered  their  proximity  and  pricked 
up  their  ears.  The  little  gray  creatures,  with  all 
their  sharp  instincts,  went  on  nibbling  at  the  clover, 
never  thinking  to  keep  a  lookout  against  an  enemy 
above  them.  Rodney  had  always  wondered,  so  he 


3G2  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

now  said,  that  he  had  not  been  created  an  animal  with 
four  legs,  instead  of  two.  He  hated  the  complexi- 
ties of  human  existence.  "  Animals  are  egotists," 
he  affirmed  ;  "  but  then  each  knows  by  instinct  just 
what  he  requires  to  make  him  happy,  and  he  seizes 
it  with  an  utter  indifference  to  what  does  not  belong 
to  him.  Man,  on  the  contrary,  a  being  cursed  with 
imagination,  is  constantly  inventing  new  ideas  and 
new  desires.  He  does  not  analyze  his  own  needs : 
he  knows  neither  what  his  will  is,  nor  what  his  want 
is.  All  that  it  is  possible  for  the  whole  universe  of 
mankind  to  have,  he,  as  an  individual,  must  pos- 
sess. No  matter  if  the  possession  is  costly,  cumber- 
some ;  in  fact,  a  trouble  and  a  pain,  —  so  long  as  his 
mind  can  conceive  it,  his  miserable,  jealous,  ambi- 
tious spirit  is  not  at  rest  until  he  has  it,  or  has 
broken  his  heart  and  ruined  his  life  in  a  struggle  to 
attain  it." 

"There  is  something  in  what  you  say,"  said 
Medhurst,  who  had  paid  little  attention  to  what 
seemed  at  first  mere  rhodomontade,  but  now  began 
to  insert  its  point  into  his  consciousness  like  a  care- 
fully driven  wedge.  "  But  then,  is  not  civilization 
the  product  of  this  imitation,  envy,  ambition  ?  Does 
not  the  real  zest  of  life  come  from  its  competitions, 
since  every  man  tries  to  pass  his  fellow-man  by  a 
stride,  at  least?" 

"  Don't  generalize  —  don't  go  off  into  the  abstract. 
Apply  your  ideas  to  real  life,  to  the  concrete." 

"I  have  nothing  concrete,"  retorted  Medhurst. 
"  Let  a  poor  devil  like  me  enjoy  a  limitless  ab- 
stract." 

"  What  I  was  going  to  add  was  this,"  pursued 


MEDHURST  CUTS   THE   KNOT.  363 

Rodney.  "  A  man  wants  what  can  do  him  no  good. 
Take,  for  instance,  a  man  doomed  to  early  death ; 
why  does  he  not  give  up  what  he  has  no  right  to 
enjoy  ?  But,  no  ;  instead  of  yielding  to  his  fate,  as 
a  beast  yields,  he  measures  his  requirements  by  his 
incapacities.  Powerless  to  accept  love  and  happi- 
ness, he  still  struggles  for  love  and  happiness." 

"  You  don't  mean  that,"  said  Medhurst,  interrupt- 
ing eagerly.  "  Don't  take  a  sick  man ;  take,  instead, 
one  like  me,  —  an  unsuccessful  one, —  one  who  knows 
himself,  and  whom  others  know,  to  be  a  complete 
failure.  Make  him  your  illustration.  He  is  the  one 
who  most  needs  to  limit  himself  and  feel  the  inex- 
orable '  must ' ;  yet  he  is,  on  the  contrary,  the  most 
intolerant  of  realties,  and  the  most  obstinate 
dreamer.  He  wants  —  God  help  him !  —  love  and 
happiness." 

The  two  exchanged  glances. 

"  Don't  take  my  words  to  yourself,"  muttered 
Rodney,  changing  color. 

"  But  how  could  I  help  it? " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  meant.  How  warm  it  is  ! 
The  dogs  are  thirsty.  Sit  still  a  moment,  and  I'll 
go  and  look  for  a  spring." 

He  called  the  animals  into  the  adjoining  copse,  and 
Medhurst  could  hear  him  talking  to  them  and  to 
himself  until  they  had  penetrated  so  far  into  the 
woods  they  were  out  of  reach  of  his  ears.  When 
they  reemerged  the  dogs  were  in  the  freshest  spirits, 
and  Rodney  was  laughing  over  their  exploits.  The 
truth  was,  he  felt  singularly  nervous,  and  it  was 
easier  to  beat  about  the  bush  and  make  more  talk 
than  to  go  straight  at  the  subject.  He  now  began 


364  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

to  talk  about  himself,  giving  a  recital  of  his  doings 
for  the  past  ten  years,  interrupted  by  frequent  di- 
gressions, for  the  sake  of  eliciting  some  opinion 
from  Medhurst,  who,  nevertheless,  offered  neither 
comment  nor  admonition.  Rodney  seemed  to  have 
been  questioning  his  conscience  and  putting  himself 
on  trial.  He  was  not  inclined  to  pass  the  sponge 
over  his  faults,  but  he  was  tired  of  committing 
them,  he  declared,  and  wanted  to  do  no  more  foolish 
things.  He  longed  now  to  dismiss  crude  illusions, 
and  see  life  as  it  really  was  ;  he  wanted,  in  fact,  a 
reasonable  existence  for  the  rest  of  his  days,  marked 
by  duties,  and  definitely  guided  by  routine. 

At  this  point  Rodney  paused  and  glanced  at  Med- 
hurst, who  answered  his  look  calmly,  and  said :  — 

"  You  wish  to  marry." 

"  I  see  you  understand  me." 

"I  understand  you  admirably.  You  are  going 
to  marry.  You  have  chosen  Miss  Haxtoun  for 
your  wife,  and  have  every  wish  to  accept  the 
altered  conditions  of  the  future." 

Rodney  laughed. 

"  You  believe  me  to  be  engaged  to  her?  " 

"  I  assuredly  do." 

"  Do  you  wonder  that  for  days  I  have  been  half 
out  of  my  senses  with  joy?  I  find,  to  my  surprise, 
that  I  am  brimming  over  with  sentiment.  If  I  see 
anything  I  wish  to  myself  she  were  seeing  it  with 
me ;  if  I  hear  anything  I  fix  it  in  my  mind  to 
repeat  to  her.  Upon  my  word  I  should  be  per- 
fectly happy,  so  it  seems  to  ine  now,  if  I  could 
settle  down  here  for  the  rest  of  my  life  with  her. 
I  have  never  been  domestic ;  but  now  all  I  long  for 


MEDHURST  CUTS   THE  KNOT.          365 

is  to  have  a  home  and  a  wife.  But  that  is  hardly 
fair  to  Cecil.  I  shall  take  her  abroad  for  a  time, 
doubtless.  In  fact,  there  is  no  limit  to  the  things 
I  intend  to  do  for  her." 

"Naturally,"  Medhurst  exerted  himself  to  say. 
He  was,  he  believed,  well  schooled  by  this  time. 
He  wanted  to  say  more.  The  subject  of  what  a 
man  situated  like  Heriot  could  do  for  the  girl  he 
loved  was  a  large  one,  and  it  loomed  before  him. 
But  when  he  tried  to  add  some  suggestion  of  this, 
something  bitter  and  terrible  flashed  across  his 
consciousness  and  smote  him  :  what  he  uttered  was 
not  unlike  a  sob ;  at  least  it  was  a  sound  which 
shuddered  out  of  an  unbearable  pain. 

Rodney  started  up  as  if  confronted  by  a  spectre. 

"Is  it  so  then?"  he  asked,  in  a  bitter,  peremp- 
tory tone. 

"It  is  so,"  answered  Medhurst.  "But  do  not 
be  alarmed.  I  am  not  altogether  the  weak  fool  I 
seem  to  be." 

"  But  you  care  for  her?     Confess  it !'" 

"  Is  it  worth  while  to  press  that  point?  " 

"Yes.  I  want  the  truth,  and  I  want  it  from 
you." 

"  I  do  care  for  her." 

"  Since  when?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you.     I  do  not  know  it  myself." 

"But,  before  you  confessed  to  yourself  that  you 
were  attracted  by  her,  did  you  not  know  that  I 
was  her  suitor  ?  " 

"I  did." 

"  I  meant  to  make  it  clear  to  you.  I  trusted 
you." 


366  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Heriot,  this  is  bitter,  bitter !  " 

"  I  trusted  you,  I  say.  I  was  now  and  then  in- 
clined to  be  jealous  of  you,  —  you  are  younger 
than  I." 

"  I  despise  myself." 

"But  why  — why"  — 

"Why  did  I  permit  myself  to  care  for  her?" 
said  Medhurst,  every  moment  more  and  more 
agitated.  "How  could  it  matter  what  I  cared 
for  her?  What  happened  was  this.  There  was  a 
day  when  I  fastened  on  the  idea  that  you  were 
over  your  fancy  for  her ;  that  you  were  in  love 
with  a  different  woman." 

"  You  make  that  your  apology?  " 

"Call  it  my  apology, — my  apology  for  dis- 
honorable conduct,  if  you  will.  Heriot,  whether 
you  believe  it  or  not,  I  am  conscious  that  I  have 
played  a  miserable  part  here." 

"How  miserable,  how  unjustifiable,  you  don't 
know,"  cried  Rodney,  his  voice  piercing  and  his 
eyes  aflame.  "You  are  young, — you  have  the 
world  before  you.  If  she  loves  you  what  else 
remains  to  me?  —  it  was  my  one  chance." 

' '  Your  one  chance  ?  " 

"  It  was  like  the  poor  man's  little  ewe-lamb." 

This  outbreak  seemed  not  unlike  a  pointless  jest ; 
but  the  extraordinary  bitterness  of  Rodney's  tone 
showed  that  he  was  in  earnest. 

"  I  the  rich  man !  "  exclaimed  Medhurst,  with  an 
air  of  bewilderment  and  incredulity.  "  I  taking 
away  the  poor  man's  one  little  ewe-lamb ! " 

"Yes,"    declared    Rodney.    "I    am    well    past 


MEDHURST  CUTS   THE  KNOT.          367 

thirty-six,  —  no  longer   young,  hopeful,  or  strong, 
and  I  am  tired  of  these  persistent  failures." 

"These  persistent  failures,"  repeated  Medhurst, 
once  more. 

"I  was  so  happy,"  Rodney  went  on.  "I  felt 
like  the  good  woman  in  the  gospel,  who  was  so 
enchanted  to  find  her  lost  penny.  I  have  always 
wanted  to  love  somebody ;  but  I  have  loved  few 
people,  and  nobody  has  ever  loved  me.  A  man 
needs  to  be  loved  a  little,  in  order  to  feel  sure  of 
himself  —  to  believe  in  himself." 

"And  have  I  robbed  you?"  asked  Medhurst, 
meditatively. 

' '  When  I  heard  that  you  had.  come  between  me 
and  Cecil "  — 

"  Who  told  you  ?" 

"  No  matter,  —  I  heard  it.  I  said  to  myself  that 
I  would  kill  you.  But,  at  the  very' moment  I  was 
registering  that  vow,  I  came  across  Snow,  who  was 
boiling  over  with  rage  against  you,  and  he  put  me 
out  of  conceit  with  any  idea  of  vengeance." 

Medhurst  had  risen,  and  was  pacing  to  and  fro, 
while  Rodney  still  lay  stretched  at  his  full  length 
on  the  turf,  propping  up  his  chin  with  his  hands. 

' '  Have  you  seen  her  to-day  ?  "  he  now  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Medhurst,  coldly. 

The  other  was  on  his  feet  in  a  moment,  and 
sprang  at  Medhurst  like  a  panther,  clutching  at 
him  and  shaking  him  powerfully.  But  Med- 
hurst, though  taken  by  surprise,  was  not  thrown 
down.  Once  on  his  guard  he  was  more  than 
Rodney's  match,  and,  watching  for  his  oppor- 
tunity, presently,  by  a  dexterous  movement,  caught 


368  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

his  opponent's  wrists,  and  held  them  like  a  vice, 
then  flung  him  back,  and  stood  looking  into  his 
face. 

"This  is  a  foolish  business,"  said  he.  "You 
are  behaving  childishly,  Heriot.  Besides,  you  have 
no  call  for  anger.  Sit  down  and  listen  to  me." 

Rodney  was  blushing  with  shame  and  vexation. 
He  was  conscious  of  his  own  inconsistency.  His 
impression  concerning  Medhurst  shifted  every 
moment.  There  was  no  consecutiveness  in  his 
ideas :  by  turns  he  had  a  vision  of  self-renuncia- 
tion, and  was  inspired  by  a  resolution  to  give  up 
nothing.  Finally,  in  a  moment  of  blind,  jealous 
rage,  he  had  committed  himself  to  violence,  and 
now  felt  the  smart  of  remorse  for  it. 

"  Let  us  talk  coolly  as  man  to  man  a  moment," 
said  Medhurst.  "  You  asked  if  I  had  seen  Miss 
Haxtoun  to-day.  I  will  tell  you  what  happened 
at  our  interview.  She  told  me  then,  and  for  the 
first  time,  that  she  was  engaged  to  you." 

Rodney  sat  on  the  ground,  bending  over  and 
pulling  nervously  at  tufts  of  grass.  He  now  lifted 
his. dilated,  feverishly  brilliant  eyes,  fixed  them  on 
Medhurst,  and  seemed  waiting  to  hear  more. 

"She  is  very  young — very  inexperienced," 
Medhurst  went  on,  speaking  with  some  difficulty. 
"I  fancy  she  —  she  pitied  me,  and  for  a  time  — 
There  are  feelings  which  gather  force  and  con- 
centration from  being  forbidden.  I  advise  you 
to  give  her  a  little  time.  Show  her  the  best  half 
of  yourself.  I  do  not  see  why  all  her  heart  should 
not  go  out  to  a  man  like  you." 

Rodney  jumped  up ;  he  stretched  out  his  hands. 


MEDHURST  CUTS    THE   KNOT.  369 

' '  Oh,  you  are  generous  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  No,  I  am  not  generous,"  said  Medhurst ;  "  but 
I  think  of  her,  and  only  of  her.  What  compensation 
is  there  for  a  woman  who  makes  a  mistake  in  mar- 
riage?" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  resign  her?  " 

"  I  am  going  away." 

"Actually?" 

"  Do  not  hurry  her,"  said  Medhurst,  who  was 
impatient  with  him  for  seeming  to  doubt  that  there 
was  any  other  sequence  except  instant  going  away 
after  his  energetic  resolution  to  play  a  man's  part 
in  the  emergency.  "  She  will  soon  forget  me." 

"And  shall  you  forget  her?"  asked  Rodney,  ab- 
ruptly. 

"I  don't  know." 

' '  You  seem  to  me  to  be  violently  breaking  your 
life  in  two." 

"All  motive  has  gone  from  me  except  to  get 
away  and  at  once,"  said  Medhurst. 

Rodney  did  not  speak,  but  continued  to  gaze  at 
him. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Medhurst.  He  lost  no  time. 
He  did  not  even  touch  the  other's  extended  hand, 
and,  without  once  looking  back,  strode  down  the  hill, 
leaped  the  fence,  and  vanished  into  the  wood. 

Left  to  himself,  Rodney  Heriot  settled  back  into 
a  comfortable  position  on  the  grass. 

"  Now  that  is  a  good  thing,"  he  observed,  aloud. 
"  Medhurst  is  a  sensible  fellow." 

But,  although  he  thus  summed  up  the  burden  of 
his  thoughts,  they  were  far  from  all  taking  the  same 
logical  direction.  An  internal  debate  went  on,  in 


370  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

which  he  took  first  one  side  and  then  the  other. 
His  feelings  rushed  with  an  impetuous  current 
towards  Cecil ;  but  all  the  time  his  wavering  conscious- 
ness was  strongly  impressed  by  Medhurst.  He  recoiled 
from  the  idea  that  the  young  girl's  belief  and  love 
were  to  be  disappointed.  Many  precious  things  are 
broken  with  the  breaking  of  illusions.  His  indigna- 
tion against  Medhurst  revived,  and  he  felt  irritated 
with  him,  not  only  for  raising  his  eyes  to  Cecil,  but 
for  winning  upon  his  own  sympathies.  But,  after 
all,  there  are  certain  laws  a  man  is  bound  to  obey, 
and  Medhurst  ought  not  to  have  thought  of  his  pa- 
tron's daughter  at  all.  Still,  now  he  had  apparently 
played  his  part  and  vanished  into  shadow.  He  had 
solved  the  problem  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  him  very 
simple,  and  had  gone  away.  Rodney  was  acting  after 
his  usual  precedents,  and  obeying  his  adopted  maxims 
in  gaining  all  the  advantages  he  could  from  the  situ- 
ation. "  Take  the  goods  the  gods  provide,"  was 
familiar  to  his  heart  and  lips,  and  if  other  thoughts, 
aspirations,  and  ideas  had  their  echo  in  his  mind 
and  soul  he  had  rarely  used  them  as  a  rule  of  life. 
Both  the  words  Medhurst  had  uttered,  and  those 
which  had  burned  in  his  eyes  and  remained  unspoken, 
had  the  power  of  shaking  Rodney.  He  felt  an  almost 
inexplicable  tenderness  and  fellow-feeling  for  the 
young  man.  He  began  to  make  schemes  for  helping 
him.  He  did  not  want  him  to  struggle  on,  and  finally 
fall  in  utter  darkness.  The  thought  of  insuring  him 
some  sort  of  material  success  became  more  and  more 
pleasant  to  him.  With  a  good  place,  where  he 
might  reap  the  advantages  of  the  world's  wealth  and 
civilization,  his  failures  would  be  cancelled  and  his 


MEDHURST  CUTS   THE  KNOT.          371 

scarred  sensibilities  healed.  This  longing  to  do 
something  for  Medhurst  was  a  reaction  against  stabs 
of  bitter  self-reproach.  With  that  young  man  com- 
fortably provided  for,  Rodney  felt  that  his  own 
happiness  would  be  insured.  He  wanted  to  dismiss 
him  from  his  mind,  and  yield  himself  up  to  the  ex- 
quisite, indefinite  sensations  of  happiness  and  hope. 


372  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A   LOST   OPPORTUNITY. 

f  I  COWARDS  sunset  Rodney  walked  across  the 
JL  Haxtouns'  lawn,  and  joined  the  group  on  the 
piazza,  where  the  family  was  assembled.  Mr. 
Haxtoun  had  experienced  an  earthquake  that  day, 
and  his  universe  was  still  shattered. 

"Do  you  know  what  has  happened?"  he  asked 
Rodney,  in  a  hollow  voice,  as  he  came  up  the  steps. 
"  My  secretary  has  left  me." 

"  He  told  me  he  was  going,"  the  visitor  replied, 
going  up  to  Cecil,  and  taking  her  lifeless  hand  in 
his.  "I  suppose  you  will  miss  him.  But  I  hope 
the  loss  is  not  irreparable." 

Cecil  had  not  yet  raised  her  eyes. 

"  Bitterly  irreparable,"  said  Mr.  Haxtoun.  "  At 
my  age,  in  my  state  of  health,  it  is  a  death-blow. 
He  promises  faithfully  to  send  some  competent 
person  within  a  week  to  assist  me,  but  I  feel  that 
he  is  too  sanguine.  I  see  myself  dying,  like  Buckle, 
with  my  immortal  work  unachieved,  saying,  '  My 
book,  my  book, —  I  cannot  finish  my  book ! ' ' 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  "  do  not  sug- 
gest anything  so  painful.  Mr.  Medhurst  may  have 
been  an  admirable  secretary ;  but,  after  all,  no  one 
person  enjoys  a  monopoly  of  all  talents  and  all 


A  LOST  OPPORTUNITY.  373 

virtues.     And  then  you  know  it  was  very  much  to 
Mr.  Medhurst's  advantage  to  go  away." 

"To  his  advantage?"  said  Rodney,  eagerly. 
"How  was  that?" 

' '  The  editor  of  the  '  Forum '  is  going  to  Europe 
and  the  East  for  a  year,  and  Mr.  Medhurst  is  to 
take  his  place." 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  "  Rodney  observed,  with  some  sug- 
gestion of  meaning  behind  his  words  ;  "  he  is  luckier 
than  I  supposed.  He  always  roused  my  sympathy 
for  his  deprivation  of  the  prizes  of  life,  yet  fate 
seemed  to  be  always  knocking  at  his  door  with  just 
what  he  wanted." 

Mr.  Haxtoun  was  ready  to  go  on  with  his  lament, 
but  his  wife  was  of  opinion  that  quite  enough  had 
been  said  concerning  the  young  man.  She  began  to 
talk  about  Mrs.  Dalton,  who  had  called  that  day  to 
say  good-by,  and  had  announced  her  departure  for 
Newport  on  the  morrow. 

"Yes,"  said  Rodney,  "she  is  tired  of  us.  She 
abhors  the  trivial  waste  which  goes  on  in  quiet  life, 
and  likes  to  reserve  herself  for  grand  occasions. 
The  play  gave  her  something  to  do ;  but  now  that  it 
is  over  she  would  find  us  very  flat  and  dreary." 

"  1  thought,"  said  Mrs.  Haxtoun,  with  a  little  nod, 
"  that  Mr.  Medhurst's  departure  might  have  pre- 
cipitated hers." 

Rodney  could  not  forbear  glancing  at  Cecil.  He 
hardly  knew  whether  it  promised  well  or  ill  for  him 
that  whatever  had  happened  between  Medhurst  and 
the  young  girl  was  unknown  to  the  mother. 

"I  do  not  think,"  he  remarked  languidly,  "that 
much  of  the  old  passion  had  survived  their  six  years' 


374  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

separation.  He  was  very  young  when  he  knew  her 
formerly, —  he  probably  understands  her  better  now 
than  he  did  then." 

"  It  would  seem,"  put  in  Alec,  with  some  pique, 
"  that  you  consider  a  mature  judgment" — 

"  Don't  impute  any  considerations  to  me,  I  beg," 
said  Rodney.  "  Any  man  of  any  age  may  admire  a 
pretty  woman." 

"  I  shall  see  Mrs.  Dalton  in  Newport  next  week," 
pursued  Alec.  "I  am  to  be  at  my  uncle's  fora 
month." 

"  Happy  man  !  "  said  Rodney.  He  rose  and  ap- 
proached Cecil. 

' '  Come  and  walk  down  to  the  river-bank  with 
me,"  he  said. 

She  obeyed  him  on  the  instant.  She  seemed  to 
have  expected  —  to  have  been  waiting  for  the  sum- 
mons. Mrs.  Haxtoun  hung  about  her  daughter  with 
a  pretty  solicitude  as  she  crossed  the  piazza,  and 
gave  Rodney  a  shawl  in  which  to  wrap  his  charge  if 
the  river  breeze  blew. 

"Your  mother  knows  how  I  love  to  take  care  of 
you,"  he  said  to  Cecil,  as  they  descended  the  first 
terrace.  "You  seem  to  me  like  a  tender  little 
child,  whose  unused  feet  must  touch  no  rough  place 
in  the  world." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  trembling  smile.  He 
saw  that  she  had  grown  pale  since  she  came  out, 
that  even  her  lips  had  lost  their  color,  and  he  spoke 
no  more  until  they  had  descended  the  last  of  the; 
long  line  of  terraces. 

"  I  was  glad  you  asked  me  to  come  out."  she  said 


A  LOST  OPPORTUNITY.  375 

then,  with  a  curious  sort  of  composure.     "  I  wanted 
to  see  you  alone.     I  have  something  to  tell  you."  . 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  troubled  glance. 

' '  Is  it  anything  you  want  me  to  forgive  ? "  he 
asked. 

"It  is  something  I  must  confess." 

"  Let  it  be  as  if  the  confession  were  made,"  said 
he,  rallying  his  spirits,  and  speaking  with  his  light, 
airy  charm  of  manner.  "  I  forgive  it  if  it  be  a  sin 
against  me,  —  I  forgive  it  freely  ;  for  I  might  myself 
confess  a  thousand  sins,  did  it  not  seem  better  to  let 
them  all  go  into  the  past,  and  to  begin  again.  I  will 
have  no  sins  against  you  in  the  future,  Cecil ;  not 
one.  And,  as  for  you,  I  will  give  you  no  chance  to 
have  sins  against  me." 

Something  in  his  words  stung  her.  Her  eyes 
drooped  a  little.  She  flung  out  her  hands  impetu- 
ously. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  half-sob,  "I  wish  you 
could  look  into  my  heart  for  one  moment ! " 

"I   do  look  into  your   heart.     I  know  it  better 
than  you  think.     You  do  not  quite  love  me  yet,  — 
but  then,  you  do  not  hate  me." 

He  held  her  hands  in  his  and  looked  down  into 
her  face.  Encountering  his  gaze  in  this  way,  she 
experienced  the  effect  of  some  bond  between  them. 
It  seemed  impossible  to  question  his  authority  over 
her. 

' '  Do  you  not  want  me  to  be  true  —  to  be  hon- 
est?" she  asked  him,  almost  the  more  determined  to 
show  no  sign  of  submission  because  she  felt  that 
she  must  submit. 

"  You  are  true  ;  you  are  honest." 


376  -A-  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  Do  not  say  that,  when  I  want  you  to  despise 
me." 

"  Ah,  little  one  !  "  he  looked  at  her  steadily,  — 
"  I  only  want  you  to  tell  me  one  thing,  —  that  you 
are  mine." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  sort  of  despair. 

"  Will  you  have  me  with  falsehoods,  with  a 
secret,  with  a  ceaseless  pain  that  breaks  my  heart? 
All  day  long  I  have  not  known  where  to  turn  nor 
whom  to  confide  in,  until  at  last  I  said  to  myself, 
'  I  will  tell  Mr.  Heriot  everything.  He  will  know 
what  is  best  for  me  to  do.'" 

Her  trouble  rushed  over  her  with  overwhelming 
force.  An  impulse  of  terror  had  come  upon  her ;  she 
had  seen  her  fault  in  a  new,  awful,  sharply  defined 
aspect.  She  was  afraid  to  trust  herself ;  she 
dreaded  her  blind  choice.  She  longed  to  tell  every- 
thing that  was  in  her  heart,  and  it  had  seemed  to 
her  that  Rodney  Heriot  might  be  ready  to  listen  with 
sympathy,  if  not  with  indulgence.  But,  met  by  his 
persistent  negation,  her  visionary  impulse  seemed 
lost.  Her  familiar  little  world  of  father,  mother, 
brother,  and  cousin  had  changed  its  aspect  for  her. 
There  seemed  no  use  in  any  appeal  to  them.  Her 
mother  had  crushed  her  with  her  sweetness,  her  dis- 
dain, her  scepticism  of  the  worth  of  her  feelings 
and  impulses,  and  to  the  others  she  had  no  heart  to 
turn.  She  had  been  compelled  to  define  for  herself 
the  meaning  of  the  vague,  impalpable  thoughts 
that  floated  in  her  mind,  and  make  actual  shapes 
for  the  hurrying  and  crowded  images  that  loomed 
before  her.  But  the  experience  was  disciplining 
her  to  truth,  to  duty,  to  a  feeling  which  put  the 


A  LOST  OPPORTUNITY.  377 

happiness  of  the  rest  of  the  world  before  her  own. 
The  strange  yearning  of  heart  she  had  been  moved 
by  towards  Medhurst ;  the  sudden  revelation  that  he 
loved  her,  that  the  glimpse  of  her  feelings  had 
opened  heaven  to  him,  —  all  these  had  given  her  a 
rapture  which  not  even  her  half  belief  in  the  fatality 
that  kept  them  apart  could  smother.  But  the 
clearer  insight  which  had  come  with  her  realization 
of  what  love  might  mean  had  shown  her  fault 
towards  Rodney  Heriot. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  everything,"  she  said,  plead- 
ingly. "  I  have  done  wrong,  and  it  has  been  you  to 
whom  I  have  done  wrong." 

Rodney  felt  all  his  joy  flatly  depart. 

"  Come  and  sit  down,"  said  he.  "  If  I  am  to  hear 
it,  let  me  hear  it  at  once.  I  wish  you  would  be  con- 
tent not  to  tell  me." 

He  led  her  to  one  of  the  garden-seats  along  the 
terrace  path.  Cecil  sat  down,  dizzy  with  the  whirl 
of  her  thoughts,  turning  to  him  in  her  need,  longing 
for  some  fact  to  grasp. 

He  sat  down  close  beside  her. 

"Cecil,"  he  began  at  once,  "  here  you  are,  almost 
within  the  circle  of  my  arms,  —  close  by  my  heart. 
You  cannot  tell  me  anything  to  pain  me,  —  I  am  sure 
you  cannot.  For  days  now  I  have  carried  the  belief 
that  you  are  to  be  my  wife.  Promise  me  that." 

He  looked  at  her,  but  she  said  nothing,  only  bent 
her  head  lower  on  her  breast. 

"  Perhaps  I  could  have  borne  it  the  other  day  to 
be  refused,"  said  he  ;  "  but  I  cannot  bear  it  now. 
My  heart  has  filled  with  love  towards  you  since  I 
spoke,  as  the  brooks  fill  with  floods  in  spring." 


378  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Cecil  looked  up  at  him  as  if  dazzled. 

"  I  see,"  she  cried,  in  a  tone  of  despair  ;  "  I  see  it 
all.  I  was  weak,  —  I  was  wicked, — and  now  I  shall 
have  to  suffer  all  my  life.  I  told  mamma,  —  she 
knew,  —  but  how  was  I  to  tell  you  that  day  ?  I 
hardly  dared  say  it  to  myself  at  that  time." 

Rodney  felt  all  his  ideas  stiffen  into  wintry  ri- 
gidity. 

"Tell  me  frankly  now,"  said  he.  "Go  on, — 
tell  everything." 

"  Mamma  wanted  me  to  marry  you,"  she  said, 
almost  as  if  talking  in  her  sleep.  "  And  how  could 
I  say  then  that  I  wanted  to  marry  somebody  else  ?  " 

"Medhurst?" 

She  nodded,  the  tears  rushing  to  her  eyes. 

4 '  He  had  not  asked  you  then  ? " 

"  No,  not  then." 

"  But  he  has  since? " 

She  said  nothing,  and  he,  too,  was  silent.  Presently 
she  took  heart  and  went  on  :  — 

"  I  knew  that  I  was  wrong.  I  needed  a  friend, 
but  I  had  no  friend  to  go  to.  And  when  mamma 
planned  it  all,  I  could  not  presumptuously  say,  '  I 
will  not  have  it  so.'  What  I  said  within  my  own 
heart  was,  '  Something  will  happen,  —  something 
must  happen.'  Even  when  you  were  speaking  to 
me  that  day,  as  we  walked  up  the  glen,  I  kept  push- 
ing away  the  real  facts,  and  making  believe  they 
were  meaningless  things,  which  ended  with  }^our 
words,  and  would  be  forgotten  like  other  little 
phrases.  And  all  that  day  and  the  next  my  heart 
was  so  heavy,  or  else  it  was  so  strangely  light.  I 
felt  either  in  a  nightmare  or  seemed  to  float  in  the 


A  LOST  OPPORTUNITY.  379 

clouds.  All  the  voices  I  heard  sounded  far  off,  — 
they  did  not  address  me  —  until  —  until  Mr.  Med- 
hurst  spoke.  And  when  he  told  me  last  night  he 
was  going  away  —  I  —  You  see  it  settled  every- 
thing for  me." 

"Tell  me  just  what  happened.  Let  me  know  so 
much." 

Cecil  did  not  analyze  the  meaning  of  the  scorn 
and  the  passion  in  his  voice.  She  obeyed  him, 
speaking  hurriedly,  and  in  a  voice  barely  above  a 
whisper :  — 

"  I  can  only  remember  that  he  said  he  was  going 
away.  And  then  I  felt  as  if  everything  was  vanish- 
ing. It  was  as  if  I  were  drowning,  —  I  reached  out 
for  help.  I  did  not  think  at  all  except  that  I  could 
not  bear  it.  1  did  not  remember  you  in  that 
moment ;  it  never  occurred  to  me  that  I  was  un- 
true —  I  simply  " — 

"  Did  he  —  did  he  kiss  you?"  Rodney  asked,  in 
a  voice  no  one  would  have  recognized  as  his  own. 
But  he  did  not  wait  for  her  answer,  but  said  reck- 
lessly :  — 

"Tell  me  what  happened  when  you  met  this 
morning." 

She  had  forgotten  all  except  her  own  trouble  now, 
and,  counting  on  help  from  some  one,  believed  it  would 
come  from  Rodney.  She  looked  up  at  him  with  the 
tears  running  down  her  face. 

"  He  had  already  begun  to  doubt  that  he  had  a 
right  to  speak  to  me,"  she  said.  "  He  declared  he 
was  too  poor  —  not  well  enough  placed  in  the  world 
—  to  ask  me  to  marry  him." 

"And  what  reply  did  you  make  to  that?" 


380  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

' '  That  I  was  not  so  very  poor,  that  I  had  some 
money,  all  my  own,  that  grandmamma  left  me." 

"  Ah,  and  that  comforted  him?  " 

"It  made  him  angry,  rather.  He  would  have 
sent  me  away,  but  when  he  saw  it  broke  my  heart, 
he  said  "  — her  voice  sank  —  "  he  could  give  up  the 
woman  he  loved,  but  not  the  woman  who  loved 
him." 

"  Ah  !  "  burst  from  Rodney. 

"  But  I  had  not  then  confessed,"  she  now  ex- 
claimed, with  all  the  bitterness  of  despair,  "  that  I 
was  in  any  way  bound  to  you  :  when  he  heard  that, 
it  was  as  if  a  gulf  opened  between  us.  He  went 
away  at  once." 

It  was  a  hard  moment  for  Rodney.  As  he  had 
told  her,  here  she  was,  almost  within  the  circle  of  his 
arms  ;  she  almost  touched  his  heart,  which  beat  with 
quick,  furious  throbs.  And  why  not  clasp  her  there, 
and  hold  her,  teach  her  a  new  creed,  give  her  a  new 
faith  ?  The  opportunity  was  his  ;  all  he  needed  was  the 
courage  to  take  it.  And  his  love  was,  in  a  measure, 
of  the  clinging,  unreasoning,  passionate  sort,  which 
would  make  a  half -resistance  from  her  piquant  and 
sweet.  But  he  wanted  her  love  ;  a  half -happiness, 
which  brought  a  poignant  pain  with  it,  might  be  the 
chief  of  calamities. 

"What  is  it,"  he  cried,  "that  hinders  you  from 
loving  me?"  He  laughed  slightly.  "Is  it  the 
years  between  us  ?  Tell  me  how  Medhurst  tricked 
your  heart  away." 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  impetuously.  "  From 
the  first  he  was  like  nobody  else  to  me.  And  then  — 
J  hate  things  that  are  made  too  easy.  I  long  for 


A  LOST  OPPORTUNITY.  381 

something  actual,  something  difficult.  I  would 
choose,  above  all  others  I  would  choose,  a  life  in 
which  I  renounced  something, — denied  myself  some- 
thing. I  like  better  what  is  hard  and  painful  than 
what  a  rich,  prosperous  life  would  give  me."  She 
broke  off,  growing  scarlet.  Rodney  had  started  to 
his  feet  as  if  stung.  "  Forgive  me,  forgive  me, 
Mr.  Heriot,"  she  said,  humbly. 

"  I  haven't  much  vanity,"  he  exclaimed,  "  and  it 
is  not  hurt.  I  am  almost  glad  you  did  not  count  in 
my  mother's  income,  and  old  Este"'s  pictures  and 
wood-carvings."  He  sat  down  again  on  the  edge  of 
the  bench,  irresolute.  "I  have  said  it  before,"  he 
remarked,  after  a  time,  in  a  tone  of  absolute  convic- 
tion, —  "no  woman  ever  loved  me.  I  don't  win  love." 

He  wondered  what  he  had  better  say  or  do,  but  he 
seemed  to  have  neither  logic,  reason,  nor  will.  All 
his  energy  was  paralyzed.  He  remembered  that 
Medhurst  had  bade  him  have  patience,  and 
not  hurry  the  young  girl.  But  at  this  moment  he 
was  eager  only  to  have  done  with  the  whole  experi- 
ence, to  forget  it,  and  have  it  well  blurred  over  in 
the  past.  Had  there  been  more  solemnity  about  his 
mood  he  might  have  declared  that  his  heart  was 
broken,  for  he  felt  as  if  something  was  shattered 
within  him.  But  he  could  not  rally  to  the  point  of 
calling  his  emotions  by  a  name.  His  mind  fastened 
on  certain  past  episodes  of  his  life,  in  which,  at  the 
crowning  moment,  what  seemed  within  his  grasp 
had  melted  away.  There  was  always  some  reason 
why  he  could  not  succeed,  let  it  be  in  act  or  in- 
tention, love  or  hate.  The  moment  he  measuivd 
his  dreams  against  realities  they  grew  unlifelike, 


382  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

monstrous.  But  the  conviction  of  his  lack  of  fervid 
belief,  of  his  weakness,  of  his  incompetence,  hurt  him 
cruelly.  This  dream  had  been  the  sweetest  of  his  life  ; 
with  all  his  heart  he  longed  to  have  it  come  to  pass. 

"  No,  I  don't  win  love,"  he  said  again.  "  I  have 
not  won  yours  ;  more's  the  pity,  for  I  want  you  for 
my  wife.  I  want  nothing  else,  —  nothing  in  the 
world.  The  desire  did  not  come  all  at  once,  but 
now  that  it  is  here  it  clutches  me  like  a  giant." 

He  turned  towards  her,  then  recoiled  with  a  sharp, 
swift  quiver  of  the  heart.  "  She  does  not  half- 
know  how  I  love  her,"  he  said  within  himself,  "  and 
she  does  not  care  to  know."  His  eyes  rested  on  the 
fair,  young  face.  He  remembered  that  Medhurst 
had  kissed  her  .  .  .  The  cup  must  be  drunk  to 
the  dregs,  and  it  was  full,  full,  brimming  over.  "  If 
I  could  only  be  done  with  it,"  he  thought;  "  if  I 
could  throw  myself  into  a  gulf,  and  so  escape  it." 

"  You  know  I  like  Medhurst, — I  liked  him  all  the 
time,"  he  said  aloud ;  "  and  I  grudge  him  no  good- 
fortune  except  this." 

Cecil  had  commanded  herself  hitherto. 

"But  this  is  not  good- fortune,"  said  she,  with  a 
little  sob.  ' '  I  cannot  help  saying  to  myself,  that  all  is 
over  between  him  and  me  before  it  has  really  begun." 

Rodney  caught  her  hand. 

"  I  can't  have  you  unhappy,"  he  said.  "  Others 
must  bear  it,  —  no  matter  how.  Despair  is  not  for 
you." 

He  was  afraid  to  stay  longer  with  her,  lest  he 
should  promise  too  much. 

"  How  dark  it  grows  ! "  he  said,  after  a  little  pause. 
"  I  must  take  you  in." 


CECIL   COMES   UP  TO   TOWN.          383 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CECIL  COMES  UP  TO  TOWN. 

ONE  day  early  in  October,  Medhurst,  who  had 
for  six  weeks  been  immured  in  editorial  life 
again,  received  a  note  from  Mrs.  Dalton,  asking 
him  to  call  upon  her,  in  his  first  moment  of  leisure, 
at  the  "  Parthenia,"  where  she  had  taken  a  suite  of 
rooms  for  the  winter.  Medhurst,  who  since  he  left 
Rosendale  had  heard  not  a  word  of  the  group  of 
people  with  whom  he  had  been  more  or  less  inti- 
mately thrown  for  three  months,  at  once  sent  a 
reply,  fixing  the  next  morning  for  his  visit,  and 
on  the  ensuing  day  took  his  way  up-town  with  a 
promptness  which  may  or  may  not  have  been  a 
tribute  to  Mrs.  Dalton.  She,  at  least,  was  flattered 
by  his  promptness. 

"  You  were  the  first  person  I  thought  of  in  coming 
back  to  New  York,"  she  said,  running  towards  him 
and  extending  her  hands  to  him  ;  "  although  I  have 
a  thousand  things  to  do,  a  thousand  preparations  to 
make.  Even  now  I  ought  to  be  with  iny  tailor,  but 
I  was  so  enchanted  at  the  idea  of  seeing  you  I  put 
him  off.  Do  you  know  that  I  am  coming  out  at 
Garrick's,  the  twenty-third  of  October?" 

"  I  had  heard  not  a  whisper  of  it." 

"  It  was  hurriedly  decided  on  a  week  ago.     Mr. 


384  A   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

Stein  came  all  the  way  to  Newport  to  make  the  en- 
gagement. Miss  Rutherford,  the  leading  lady,  fell 
ill,  and  cannot  be  back  for  weeks,  perhaps  months." 

She  entered  at  once  into  the  subject  of  her  debut; 
told  the  amount  of  her  salary,  her  requirements,  her 
perquisites,  her  impressions  of  her  fellow-actors, 
and  her  own  success  in  the  rehearsals.  She  evi- 
dently took  a  practical,  and  not  an  exaggerated,  view 
of  her  prospects.  Her  ambition  was  temperate  ;  her 
demands  not  peremptory. 

"It  is  good  for  me  to  be  under  orders,"  she 
finally  observed.  "  Nothing  humanizes  one  so 
much  as  having  fixed  duties  and  a  fixed  salary. 
One  finds  one's  self  a  part  of  the  working  force  of  the 
world,  and  one  understands  the  movements  and 
meanings  of  the  rest  of  the  machinery  better." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Medhurst,  "  if  one  has  time 
for  those  large  views.  I  have  generally  been 
obliged  to  feel  myself  a  mere  spoke  in  the  wheel,  and 
my  observation  is  limited  to  its  revolutions." 

!For  the  first  time  Mrs.  Dal  ton  looked  at  her  vis- 
itor. Up  to  the  present  moment  she  had  been  so 
utterly  engrossed  in  her  own  story  she  had  merely 
thought  of  him  as  an  audience. 

"What  are  you  doing  nowadays?"  she  asked. 
' '  I  was  so  surprised  to  hear  that  you  left  Rosendale 
the  day  before  I  went  to  Newport.  Nobody  told 
me  at  the  time  that  you  were  gone  for  good,  but, 
later,  Mrs.  Este"  mentioned  the  fact  in  her  letters." 

"  I  was  sent  for.  Mr.  Hill  telegraphed  to  ask  if 
I  could  take  his  position  for  a  few  months,  and  I 
came  to  New  York  at  once.  I  accepted  the  place. 


CECIL   COMES    UP  TO   TOWN.  385 

My  first  duty  was  to  look  up  a  secretary  for  Mr. 
Haxtoun,  whom  I  had  left  in  the  lurch." 

"  Did  you  succeed?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  the  old  gentleman  has  forgotten  even 
to  regret  me." 

"  And  how  are  you  doing?" 

"  Very  well,  I  believe." 

"  Are  you  making  money? " 

"  No  vast  amount." 

"  You  look  older,  more  decided,  more  in  earnest," 
declared  Fanny,  throwing  a  good  deal  of  expression 
into  her  fine  eyes. 

Medhurst  waived  these  personal  considerations. 
He  told  Mrs.  Dalton  that  he  was  in  a  position  to 
advance  her  in  her  new  career,  and  he  would  help 
her  to  the  extent  of  his  ability.  She  was  glad  to 
return  to  the  subject  of  her  own  profession.  She 
was  interested  in  all  its  cliques,  mysteries,  intrigues. 
She  caught  eagerly  at  all  the  guild-secrets,  and  were 
anxious  to  propitiate  the  ruling  powers.  There  was 
a  display  of  experience,  and  a  freedom  from  illu- 
sion in  her  estimate  of  things,  which  seemed  to 
promise  success.  She  already  believed  that  fascina- 
tion of  the  public  rested  on  clever  trickery,  and  that 
the  critics  could  cajole  them  into  almost  any  views. 
This  may  have  been  interesting  to  Medhurst,  but  he 
had  only  an  hour  to  spend  with  her,  and  he  had  not 
yet  heard  a  word  of  what  he  had  come  to  learn.  It 
was  not  until  he  rose  to  take  leave  that  he  had  a 
chance  to  ask  :  — 

"  What  have  you  heard  from  Rodney  Heriot?" 

Fanny's  mobile  face  changed  slightly. 

"  I  believe  he  is  going  abroad." 


386  -4  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

"  They,  I  suppose  you  mean.     His  wedding  comes 
off  this  autumn,  no  doubt." 

"Wedding!  I  have  heard  of  no  wedding.  If 
you  allude  to  the  idea  some  people  entertained  that 
he  wanted  to  marry  Miss  Haxtoun,  I  assure  you 
there  was  nothing  in  it.  Don't  you  remember  my 
telling  you  that  he  would  never  marry  her  ?  Mrs. 
Este"  wrote  me  that  he  tried  to  make  up  his  mind 
to  it,  but  found  out  that  he  was  too  old.  It 
was  a  mere  midsummer  madness.  He  had 
lived  for  himself  too  long,  —  he  could  not  pick  up 
handkerchiefs  and  offer  bouquets  of  roses  like 
younger  men.  The  thing  bored  him.  He  declares 
that  he  is  devoted  to  his  mamma,  and  only  to  her.  He 
wants  her  to  go  to  Paris  with  him.  Poor  old  lady  ! 
How  tired  she  is  of  the  world,  and  yet  how  much  she 
has  got  in  it !  By  the  way,  Frank  "  —  Mrs.  Dai- 
ton  did  not  go  on.  She  was  about  to  ask  some 
rankling  question  concerning  his  infatuation  of  two 
months  ago ;  but,  observing  the  gleam  in  his  eye,  she 
laughed  softly,  looking  at  him,  remained  silent  a 
moment,  then  made  him  promise  to  return  soon,  and 
in  parting  gave  him  the  smile  which  was  soon  to 
charm  all  the  town. 

On  the  journey  back  to  his  office  Medhurst  gave 
himself  up  to  thoughts  he  had  lately  checked  and 
controlled.  He  had  interpreted  the  heavy  silence 
between  himself  and  Rosendale  as  a  confirmation 
of  his  belief  that  everything  there  was  moving  on 
in  its  appointed  way ;  that  his  absence  had  left 
no  blank.  Coerced  to  bear  his  pain,  it  had  finally 
given  him  strength.  He  had  found  more  than  enough 
to  do.  This  was  a  friendly  chance  to  show  him  his 


CECIL   COMES   UP  TO  TOWN.  387 

own  powers,  and  he  had  determined  to  profit  by  it. 
He  had  learned  more  than  one  lesson  in  life  of  late. 
He  no  longer  estimated  himself  beyond  his  true 
worth.  His  imagination  had  hitherto  misled  him 
a  little,  and,  after  sounding  his  imperfections  with  it 
until  they  were  virtues,  it  now  made  his  fault  blacker 
than  it  was.  He  had  thought  of  Heriot  with  a  sting- 
ing sense  of  his  own  unfaithfulness,  while  he  believed 
him  to  be  reinstated  with  Cecil,  and  when  now  he 
entered  his  room  and  found  Heriot  sitting  in  his 
chair,  he  was  seized  with  a  feeling  of  surprise, 
doubt,  and  contrition  almost  overwhelming. 

"I  —  I  was  just  thinking  of  you  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
stopping  short,  and  staring  at  his  visitor. 

Rodney  had  sprung  to  his  feet. 

"Nevertheless,  you  look  at  me  as  if  I  were  the 
last  man  in  the  world  you  wanted  to  see,"  he  said. 
"  Now,  I  fancied  that,  by  this  time,  you  would  be 
hankering  after  my  society." 

"  Don't  mind  my  looks.  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  I 
have  just  this  moment  come  from  Mrs.  Dalton,  who 
spoke  of  you." 

Rodney  gave  Medhurst  a  keen  glance. 

' '  Are  you  in  her  meshes  again  ?  " 

"  Hardly,  —  so  far,  at  any  rate.  She  invited  me 
to  call,  and  I  gratefully  complied.  I  knew  nothing 
of  her,  —  in  fact,  I  knew  nothing  of  any  one.  We 
talked  chiefly  of  her  prospects ;  she  told  me  she  is 
going  on  the  stage." 

"  Yes,  my  mother  heard  from  her  that  she  had 
secured  a  very  good  engagement.  I  fancy  she  will 
succeed  very  well.  She  likes  sensation,  and  she 
likes  applause ;  and  she  is  likely  to  gain  both.  I 


388  ^  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

don't  blame  her  for  wanting  to  put  something  into 
her  life.  She  has  not  much  heart,  so  she  cannot 
solace  herself  by  falling  in  love ;  and  she  is  fright- 
fully discreet,  so  that  she  will  not  give  herself  away 
by  being  fallen  in  love  with.  Life  becomes  tame  to 
a  clever  woman  like  that.  Nothing  would  induce 
me  to  be  a  woman.  We  all  expend  our  force  on 
trivialities,  but  they  expend  theirs  on  such  dull 
trivialities.  Did  you  never  see  a  group  of  half-a- 
dozen  women,  arch,  brilliant,  mutinous,  discussing 
some  subject  in  secret  conclave  with  such  avidity 
that  you  long  to  know  what  it  is,  believing  the  topic 
to  be  something  racy,  wicked,  delicious?  Depend 
upon  it,  they  are  talking  about  nothing  more  than 
whether  their  petticoats  are  to  be  scant  or  full  next 
season,  flat  at  the  hips  or  bouffant.  They  are 
dreadfully  restricted." 

Under  the  sedative  of  Rodney's  easy  common- 
places Medhurst  had  regained  his  composure,  and 
now  drew  a  chair  opposite  his  visitor  and  sat  down. 

"  Are  you  staying  in  town?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  we  came  up  yesterday.  We  have  decided 
to  spend  the  winter  in  New  York." 

"  Tell  me  how  it  is  that  you  are  not  going  to  be 
married?"  Medhurst  said,  in  a  low  voice,  going 
straight  to  the  matter  which  most  concerned  them 
both  without  preamble. 

They  looked  at  each  other,  first  pale,  then  simul- 
taneously beginning  to  redden. 

"I  don't  think  you  need  information  on  that 
point, —  you  of  all  men,"  said  Rodney,  rather  dryly. 
He  seemed  disinclined  to  say  more,  but  presently 
added,  "  Make  your  mind  easy, —  I  am  not  to  marry 


CECIL   COMES    UP  TO   TOWN.  389 

Miss  Haxtoun.  You  see  I  don't  fatigue  myself 
carrying  about  the  same  ideas  month  after  month 
and  year  after  year.  To-day  my  happiness  seems 
at  stake,  but  to-morrow  I  find  out  that  I  still  live, 
although  happiness  no  longer  exists  for  me.  Sen- 
sations, repugnances,  sympathies,  hopes  and  fears, 
come  and  go,  mix  and  merge  into  each  other.  Last 
March  I  resented  the  idea  that  anybody  wished  me 
to  marry.  But  then  the  notion  of  marriage  grew 
less  strange,  until  '  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  its 
face,  I  first  endured,  then  pitied,  then  embraced.' 
That  is,  I  almost  embraced  it,  — I  would  if  I  could, 
but  at  the  critical  moment "  —  Rodney  broke  off 
abruptly  and  stared  at  the  ceiling.  "How  do  you 
get  on?"  he  asked,  without  change  of  voice. 

"lam  doing  very  well.  At  least  I  am  a  busy 
man." 

"  I  shan't  take  up  your  time,"  said  Rodney.  "  I 
called  simply  to  ask  you  to  drive  with  me  to-day.  I 
shall  take  no  excuse.  I  will  call  for  you." 

It  had  not  been  convenient  for  Medhurst  to  accept 
the  invitation,  but  his  objections  had  been  over- 
ruled, and  by  half-past  four  that  afternoon  the  two 
entered  the  park.  Rodney  Heriot  was  in  a  rapid, 
brilliant,  and  excited  mood,  and  he  had  been  talking 
incessantly  ever  since  they  set  out.  The  spell  of 
confession  was  on  him,  and  he  had  been  telling  Med- 
hurst about  the  past  six  weeks  in  the  country.  He 
had  seen  a  great  deal  of  Cecil,  although  their  tacit 
engagement  had  long  since  ended.  Once  free  of 
him  as  a  lover  he  declared  that  the  young  girl  had 
liked  him  exceedingly. 


390  A   MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

' '  I  had  exceptional  opportunities  for  falling 
deeper  and  deeper  in  love  with  her,"  Rodney  went 
on,  "but  I  did  not  use  them;  on  the  contrary,  I 
exerted  myself  to  extricate  my  feelings  from  their 
entanglement.  I  cured  my  passion  by  talking  to  her 
about  you.  Although  I  like  you  very  well  as  a 
friend,  Medhurst,  I  did  not  enjoy  such  a  monopoly 
of  you  as  the  young  lady  gave  me.  I  prefer  to  find 
my  own  reflection  in  a  woman's  eyes." 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  understand  you." 

"Unluckily  I  have  no  time  to  make  my  whole 
meaning  clear.  I  hope  you  are  grateful  to  me, — 
but  who  is  grateful  in  this  world  ?  Besides  what  I 
have  sacrificed,  what  I  have  resigned,  nobody  will 
ever  quite  know.  You  have  found  your  fitting  op- 
portunity, and  have  shown  your  own  powers,  and  I 
shall  be  quite  forgotten." 

The  two  faces  were  lit  up,  each  with  a  different 
emotion,  each  with  an  absolutely  opposite  train  of 
ideas.  Yet  the  men  understood  each  other.  In  a 
different  way  each  had  had  something  of  the  same 
struggle.  Rodney  had  been  driving  his  spirited 
horses  rapidly,  but  now  paused  a  little  beyond  the 
bridge,  and  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  some  one. 
The  scene  was  full  of  charm,  if  Medhurst  had 
not  been  dumb,  deaf,  and  blind.  The  tints  of 
red  and  yellow  had  mellowed  and  made  various 
the  green  of  the  past  summer.  Many  of  the  leaves 
had  fluttered  down  in  the  September  storms,  and 
the  thinned  foliage  opened  lovely  vistas  into  bridle- 
paths and  pleasure- walks  on  every  hand. 

While  Medhurst  was  trying  to  speak,  and  utter 
something  of  the  conflict  of  feeling  going  on 


CECIL   COMES    UP   TO   TOWN.  391 

within  him,  a  low,  luxurious  carriage,  with  the  best 
appointments,  stopped  close  beside  them. 

"That  is  my  mother,  Medhurst,"  observed  Rod- 
ney. "  Suppose  you  get  out  and  speak  to  her." 

The  younger  man  obeyed  with  some  pleased  sur- 
prise, took  off  his  hat,  and  went  up  to  Mrs.  Est4, 
who  made  a  marvellous  picture  in  her  bronze 
velvet,  with  a  tiger-skin  drawn  over  her  knees. 

"O  you  naughty,  naughty  man!  —  to  run  away 
from  us  last  summer,"  she  began  at  once,  waving 
her  parasol  at  him  with  little,  coquettish  advances, 
which  he  was  compelled  to  parry.  "  How  do 
you  think  poor  Fanny  felt  ?  I  fancy  your  desertion 
was  what  drove  her  to  go  on  the  stage.  Shall 
you  go  to  see  her  the  first  night?  She  has  sent 
for  me  to  come  and  see  her  clothes.  She  wants 
to  make  me  envious.  Oh,  these  actresses,  what 
clothes  they  can  have !  They  are  not  compelled 
to  use  our  little  economies." 

"You  block  the  way,  mamma,"  cried  Rodney, 
impatiently. 

"Ah,  yes,  yes!  Dear  Mr.  Medhurst,  there  is  a 
little  girl,  a  guest  of  mine,  driving  with  me,  and  as 
she  is  inclined  to  romance,  I  let  her  go  wandering 
into  the  Ramble.  She  is  probably  by  this  time 
sitting  on  a  bench  under  the  trellis ;  and  will  you 
go  to  her,  and  say  that  I  will  take  three  turns,  and 
then  come  back  for  her  ? " 

"At  your  orders,"  said  Medhurst,  starting  at 
once.  He  glanced  back  at  Rodney,  to  see  if  he 
had  heard  his  mother's  command,  and  Rodney 
waved  his  hand,  laughed,  and  drove  on.  The 
carriage,  too,  had  rolled  away.  Medhurst  was 


392  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

startled  by  a  half-hope  he  tried  to  push  away. 
Could  it  be  —  could  it  be?  Certainly  a  voice 
seemed  calling  him  from  those  picturesque  laby- 
rinths. Quite  blindly,  like  one  in  a  dream,  he  went 
on.  How  was  he  to  find  the  place  Mrs.  Est£  had  so 
vaguely  indicated,  and  if  —  if  this  tingle  of  joy 
which  ran  through  him  came  from  a  misleading 
fancy,  how  was  he  to  bear  it?  But  the  uncer- 
tainty lasted  but  for  a  moment.  It  would  have 
been  easy  to  mistake  the  way,  but  an  unerring 
instinct  had  led  him  on. 

"You  —  you  here?"  he  said  softly,  going  up  to 
a  young  girl  who  was  loitering  along  the  path, 
and  had  not  yet  reached  the  bench  under  the 
trellis. 

Cecil  had  heard  some  one's  step  along  the  gravel- 
walk.  She  had  not  turned  to  see  who  was  coming, 
but  yet  the  sound  of  a  hasty  stride  behind  her 
had  thrilled  and  half -frightened  her.  It  was  not 
that  she  expected  to  see  Medhurst;  still,  now 
that  she  was  in  New  York,  she  might  happen  to 
see  him.  But  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  turned, 
lifting  up  her  great,  soft  eyes,  the  color  on  her 
cheeks  kindling,  then  fading  to  return  and  deepen. 

"  Did  you  know  I  was  coming?  "  he  asked  again. 

"No — no,"  said  Cecil,  in  a  foolish,  trembling, 
little  voice:  "  Mrs.  Est£  would  insist  that  I  should 
come  walking  here  by  myself —  She  said  she 
would  send  for  me;  but  I  thought"  — 

"  What  did  you  think,  pray  ?  " 

They  were  looking  into  each  other's  eyes.  His 
look  was  fond,  secure,  and  proud.  "  What  did 
you  think?"  he  insisted. 


CECIL    COMES    UP  TO   TOWN.  893 

"  That  she  would  send  the  footman  for  me." 

"Are  you  disappointed?"  said  Medhurst,  and 
they  both  laughed  a  little.  Medhurst  bent  down, 
and  took  the  little  gloved  hand  hanging  at  her 
side. 

"  Is  it  my  little  Cecil?"  he  asked,  with  a  thrill  of 
delight,  which  lit  up  his  face  with  loyalty  and 
devotion. 

"  I  am  spending  a  day  with  Mrs.  EsteY'  Cecil 
said,  quite  inappositely.  "I came  to  town  with  her, 
but  shall  go  to  our  cousin's  to-morrow,  with  papa 
and  mamma,  who  are  on  their  way  here.  Papa's 
errand  is  to  find  a  publisher  for  his  first  volume. 
The  new  secretary  has  been  very  swift  and  satis- 
factory." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that." 

"  Even  mamma  likes  him,"  declared  Cecil. 

"I  see  —  I  see,"  cried  Medhurst;  "I  have  not 
been  missed ! " 

They  had  been  walking  on  and  on,  and  had  now 
reached  the  top  of  a  little  hill. 

"  Cecil,"  said  Medhurst,  turning  to  her  and 
putting  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  "look  up  at 
me." 

She  looked  up.  It  was  too  real  to  her,  too  vivid, 
too  overwhelming.  The  tears  came  to  her  eyes  and 
the  lids  drooped  over  them. 

"  Heriot  was  generous,"  Medhurst  said,  softly. 
"  I  thought  he  would  use  his  advantages." 

Cecil  said  nothing. 

"  If  you  are  not  his,  you  shall  be  mine,"  Med- 
hurst went  on. 


394  A  MIDSUMMER  MADNESS. 

There  came  a  little,  fluttering  half-smile  on 
Cecil's  lips. 

"Can  you  —  can  you  forgive  me?"  Medhurst 
asked. 

"  What  is  there  to  forgive?" 

It  was  easier  for  her  than  for  Medhurst  to  claim 
her  happiness  and  take  it  in.  Here  was  what  she 
had  longed  for  close  to  her,  kind,  strong,  dear,  not 
to  be  lost  again.  Her  drifting  dreams  and  fancies 
had  parted  like  the  mists  of  dawn,  and  here  was 
the  reality.  Medhurst,  on  the  other  hand,  could 
realize,  with  terrible  distinctness,  the  vast  meaning 
and  moment  of  this  change  to  him.  He  felt 
humbled  and  awed  by  the  great  happiness  which  was 
coming  to  him.  But  yet  it  seemed  familiar  and 
natural  that  he  should  be  standing  there  with  Cecil, 
and  yet  there  was  undreamed-of  eloquence  and 
suggestiveness  in  it.  There  was  nobody  to  see,  he 
said  to  himself,  and  he  yielded  to  the  temptation,  and, 
leaning  forward,  kissed  the  young  girl  on  her  lips. 

But  some  one  saw,  and  it  was  Rodney  Heriot. 
Mrs.  Est6  was  waiting,  he  had  come  to  say ;  it  was 
growing  cooler,  and  she  wanted  to  go  home  at  once, 
and  Cecil  must  join  her.  When  he  approached  the 
two  he  was  very  pale.  He  looked  from  one  to  the 
other  and  smiled.  Cecil's  sweet  face  was  wet  with 
tears,  and  Medhurst  was  grave.  With  rather  an 
inexplicable  impulse  Rodney  took  their  two  hands, 
which  were  clasped,  and  crushed  them  between  both 
of  his. 

"  Are  you  ready  to  go  home,  Miss  Haxtoun?"  he 
then  asked,  with  high  ceremony.  "  Is  this  little 
arrangement  concluded  ?  " 


CECIL    COMES    UP  TO   TOWN.  395 

But,  though  he  showed  a  light  heart,  Rodney 
Heriot  was  hating  the  thorns,  dust,  and  weariness  of 
life  which  he  could  not  throw  off.  He  realized 
as  truth,  by  the  pain  of  being  compelled,  what  was 
false,  faith  by  his  unfaith,  and  the  sweet  rewards 
of  life  by  his  own  chastisements. 


FINIS. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  028  609     6 


